Extra legs from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Wilderness bound, Ken’s trusty steed has extra legs. The addition of a waterproof dry bag behind the saddle, filled with food. Provides extra range. And handy for lobbing up trees, away from Goldilocks and her mates.
The ride north out of Anchorage had given me chance to reflect on my time in the US, or Alaska at least. Two things had really struck me. Firstly, the relative ease with which I’d been able to get myself and all the kit over from Australia. Admittedly there’d been quite a bit of planning. Days in fact, if I’m honest. But, for all that, you still have to satisfy Customs and Border Protection on entry that you’re a bone fida traveller. But that too had been remarkable for being unremarkable.
Secondly, the hospitality I’d been shown. I don’t mean the Have a nice day sort, the obligatory niceness. An expression, incidentally, I’ve yet to hear. Rather, the genuine welcome, the generosity, the warmth I’ve experienced in little over a week. Whether this holds true for other parts of the US – the Lower 48 – I’m not yet sure. I’ll find out in a little while.
I’ve been particularly intrigued by the friendliness of everyone, even amongst officials I’ve met, because I do think there’s a perception abroad that the US can be a bit officious, with a politeness often lacking in conviction. Am sure there’ll be the odd blip over the next few months, but what matters to me is the broader picture. And, so far, I must admit I’ve been hugely impressed.
Final flurry in Anchorage from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken prepares to depart Anchorage. Canada bound.
Ordinarily I’d have rebuffed him more forcefully. But he’d a number three razor in his hand, in the midst of trimming my hair. Didn’t seem wise to rial him too much. Friendly banter in a small, very traditional, barbers shop in downtown Anchorage. He was German, as fond of football as he was asserting all
English fans were hooligans. That, I quickly retorted, was a contradiction. Struggling to resist the temptation to point out that roaming amok around Europe was very much something his fellow countrymen knew far more about than the Brits.
But he wasn’t the first German I’d met since I’d arrived in the US. There’d been a teacher, staying in the hostel with me in Hawaii. And Christine. She’d also been staying with my host in the suburbs. More friendly banter. We’d vehemently disagreed over which you preferred, Australia or New Zealand. An all the more passionate exchange given we’d both spent a decent amount of time in the Antipodes. Both of us holding what we firmly believed to be very informed opinions.
She was leaving shortly for Berlin. Then off to John O’Groats and a trek down to Lands End. I offered to help her carry some of her luggage to the bus stop the next morning, gently teasing her about the lack of Germanic precision when she seemed a little unsure as to when we’d need to leave the house.
route – pronounced r-out – the path you follow
Not sure why I’d settled on Seattle as the next big goal, but I have. Got to cross Alaska and ride through Canada to get there, not a trivial undertaking in itself. It just seems intuitively right, logical even. Actually, a very old friend from school lives there, someone I used to ride around Pembrokeshire with as a teenager. Haven’t seen him for many years, and really keen to meet up with him again. Lots of catching up to do. There’s also a chance to ride with a fellow cyclist south of Seattle. Someone I’ve already met, whom I’d absolutely love to travel with. Think it would be a lot of fun. So much so, I’ve decided it’s a given that the timeline will fit.
Plan is simple. About 800 miles across Alaska, brief foray into Canada’s Yukon, then back into Alaska to catch a ferry from Skagway. Sailing along the Alaska Marine Highway to Prince Rupert in British Colombia, Canada. Then a further 1200 miles or so south to Vancouver, over the border back into the US and on to Seattle. Glad I’ve a multiple entry visa. Four border crossings. And, putting it all into a bit of perspective, the first stage of North America equates to riding from one end of the UK to the other. Twice. And a little bit left over.
[With especial thanks to friend and professional artist, illustrator and author Claudia for the sketch map – please do visit her at www.claudiamyatt.co.uk. And a big thank you to Linda in Anchorage for sage advice on routes, mapping and quite a bit more. Plus Amelia for the Yukon guides and maps]
Mountains ahead from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken stumbles on a topographic map of Alaska and North America. Noticing there’s quite a few mountains ahead…
Lost for words, albeit briefly. Finding myself being presented, quite unexpectedly, with a large cheque. In more ways than one. A remarkably generous donation to The Outward Bound Trust from the Bent Prop Inn Hostel in Anchorage.
Owner Ben and manager John had already been overwhelming generous with their hospitality. A charitable gift, especially one of such magnitude, something I simply couldn’t have foreseen. Regaining my composure, I thanked them profusely, admitting I’d been entirely taken aback, especially given everything they’d already done to help.
Introducing Reggie from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Reggie, handyman at Anchorage’s Bent Prop Inn Hostel, shares some candid thoughts…
It was meant to be an interview but ended up being rather more of a chat. Good couple of hours. Justin was a journalist with Alaskan outdoors magazine Coast. It’d chanced on a recent copy at the airport when I’d returned there to clear my bicycle for release with Customs. A well-written publication, lots of interesting articles, I’d been particularly looking forward to our meeting. Another event arranged by John, the Bent Prop Inn Hostel’s inexhaustible manager.
There were copious notes. Page after page. Keen, Justin explained, to have plenty of quotes. Photos we would do a little later. We’d often wander a little, sharing anecdotes, before struggling to recall where we’d left off. Sometimes it was just advice, suggestions. Thoughts exchanged on the possibility of writing a book. Firm agreement that if it was ever to be successful, it needed to offer something different to the plethora of other travelogues. I alluded a little to an idea I had, but not the details. Early days.
Car drivers, explained Kevin, would normally give you plenty of room on the road. If he’d said that this was because most were just considerate, I’d have bought it. But he didn’t. This, he quickly added, was a litigious society. People fearful of being sued. I’d been introduced to him in the lobby of the Bent Prop Inn in Anchorage. A fellow cyclist, he’d returned to the city after a spell on the road in the Lower 48. Spending a little time in the hostel whilst he found himself more permanent lodgings.
For my part, I assured him I’d some pretty hefty insurance. Covered for personal liability in the event of accident or collision. Explaining I didn’t want to end up bankrupt, even if the hike in premiums for putting a foot down in North America was a bit eye-watering.
