My pages of Milepost travel guide said to watch for construction on the Glenn Highway. I was happy that none appeared on the few miles I was on it after Dry Creek. But when I reached my cutoff Tok there was a big sign on it: “Road Construction Next 55 Miles — Travel not Advised.” Oh my, the alternate route would add 100 miles to my travel.
I rode down the cutoff for a mile until I came to the construction. The road was totally ripped up and there was a layer of 2″ river rock on top. But some of you may remember of one of my maxims: It can’t hurt to try.
I’d never ridden on rocks like that, but I gave it a try. It seemed the road might be rideable if I reduced my tire pressure. That would make it easier to roll them over those big pebbles. I let out some air and off I went, thinking I could go back if it became impassable.
I made it (otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this). It was a struggle though. Six or seven mph was best I could do most of the time. I had to walk the bike in some places because the gravel was too deep. Sometimes I’d get my hopes up because the road was a little better. But in a mile or so my hopes would be dashed again. When it finally ended at mile 53 it felt like I was floating on a cloud.
I rode on another ten miles and stopped at the Grizzly Lake B&B (which also allowed camping). The little lake, a broad valley beyond, and the massive Wrangell Mountain Range in the background made a grand scene.
I spotted a woman out by the cabins and enquired about camping. She said OK, but she didn’t know what she wanted to charge. She was taking ownership of the B&B from her Great Grandmother and didn’t want to presume how to handle it. Then she decided I could stay for $15 (later on her Great Grandmother said $5, but I had already paid). I told her I also wanted to take a shower and she said she’d have to talk to her Great Grandmother about that.
I set up camp, cooked dinner and busied myself with my gear. The Great Grandmother arrived and came over to see me after she talked with the new owner. She said, “I understand you want to see the great room.” I told her that would be nice, but I had no idea what she was talking about. I guessed we’d get around to the shower in due course.
Her husband had been a hunting guide in Alaska for 50 years. We went over to her cabin, walked through the big kitchen and entered the Great Room. There were dozens of trophies there: Brown bears, grizzly bears, deer, a beaver, caribou, Dahl sheep, wolves, eagles, a moose, a wolverine, foxes, et alia. Interesting, but I told her again that I wanted to take a shower. “Oh,” she said, and told me to come back in half an hour and the water would be warm. (We agreed the $15 would cover the shower too.)
I returned to her cabin and she led me out to an old log structure that was half buried in a bank of earth. There was an old galvanized shower in it. She handed me a towel and left me to it. Everything was going fine until I noticed that the water wasn’t draining away. I finished my shower ankle deep in soapy water. As I dried myself off I reminded myself that I’d been in worse.
Back at my tent, I saw a mother duck with a half-grown family behind her swimming around on the lake. There were loons making their manic calls too. Another relative of the B&B clan came by mowing the grass. She made some remark about relatives, so I told her the old Montana joke: There are two seasons in Montana — nine months of winter and three months of relatives. She got a big kick out of that.
The next morning I was sure I could be in Tok in time for dinner. It was great to be on pavement again. The rocky road took a lot out of me the day before. I figured it had been the equivalent of 100 miles on pavement. The flat terrain from here to Tok would help, and I would ride slower but longer today.
I decided to have breakfast at Duffy’s Roadhouse up the road about ten miles. It turned out to be a grubby sort of place, but the coffee and breakfast were fine. At least, that’s what my journal says.
I met Gene and Christine, a couple walking toward me, shortly after leaving that place. A little civilization was beginning now that I was closer to Tok, so I wasn’t surprised to meet them. (They were the only pedestrians I encountered on the open road during the whole tour.)
We talked for a bit and they invited me to come to their cabin, which was nearby, for breakfast. I had just eaten, but I agreed to have some orange juice. We had a nice conversation about their life there and where I’d been and where I was going. Gene repaired small motors, chain saws, snow blowers, etc., for a living. They had been in Alaska for more than 30 years.
Back on the road, I met a Swiss cyclist. He started in LA and had been on the road for two and a half years. I don’t know why it took him so long to get to Alaska. He wondered if I had seen the German couple he met a few days before. I hadn’t, but they did come along a while later. The Germans were on a three-week tour. (I don’t think I came across a single US tourist on the whole tour.)
I made it to Tok in the early evening. I had come 72 miles. I headed straight for the campground at the Tok Salmon Bake and quickly set up my tent and took a shower. You can guess what came next. Another great salmon dinner.
Didit.Live 