The weather from Whitehorse up until the Alaska border was cold but dry and therefore acceptable. Besides Destruction bay it was unremarkable, though snow-capped mountain ranges could now be seen both to the north and south at all times. Sure enough, as I re-entered the US the border agent once again gave me the warning — despite the fact that I had just gotten myself all the way here!

As I came down into Alaska, the trees, the terrain, the weather, the road conditions — it all changed. The border crossing at Alcan is also the crossing of a small mountain range. Here in Alaska, the ground was boggy, with large ponds and marshlands all along the road. Power lines sunk into the ground, at times just a few feet above the murky water. The roads were better and asphalt instead of chip seal, except when they were worse, and then they were way worse. The bad part of a road in Canada was perhaps a bit of gravel around some small potholes. The bad part of these AK roads were topsy-turvy affairs, where stretches of a lane might pitch down or buck up radically. You gotta be on your toes and read the terrain carefully at all times now. And of course, it started to rain again. What had been a nice day dropped down to the 40s. I was back in the cold and the wet. Lightning could occasionally be seen in the distance. It was thus that I was welcomed to Alaska.

I entered Tok close to sunset, steered towards the first gas station I saw, and immediately began shivering as I got off the bike. There I met an older couple who had just come back up from Anchorage. They road on a massive Tenere, piled high with luggage and covered in dirt and calcium from the roads. I think they were British, or maybe Aussies. They couldn’t be happier. We traded stories and bemoaned the lack of cell service, and I gradually warmed up. I finally managed to load up the directions to my hotel for the night and set off. I had booked a nice looking BnB online without any understanding of where it was. Turns out, I had to exit the town proper by a few miles and then make my way down some old logging roads and into a neighborhood of sorts. Imagine vast tracts of flat forest. Now imagine logging roads breaking it into a neat grid about a quarter of a mile on each leg. Now imagine that a neighborhood exists there, among the trees, where each house lays claim to acreage about the size of a city block. My BnB was one of those houses. You wouldn’t know this neighborhood of sorts existed at all from the highway. I suppose this is suburbs, remote Alaska style.

The BnB itself was one of the more delightful stays of the trip, and so I’ll reminisce briefly. Of the two houses on the property, one was a private residence for the owners, and the other was built as a dedicated BnB. Apparently built in the early 2010s, the original owner thought better of the remoteness and returned to the lower 48, selling the property to a Romanian couple who had been in the states for just a few years prior. They were now happily adjusting to the hosting lifestyle, and enjoyed sharing stories with visitors. I also met a very kind Australian couple here and we spent a few hours discussing everything from climate change to search and rescue techniques (as the husband was a rescue specialist with the coast guard). In a trip of cheap motels and shady AirBnBs, this lovely place full of kind human connections was a meaningful respite.

Day 16: Tok AK to Anchorage AK. 318 miles.

I would finally get into Anchorage — the turnaround point for this trip north — and be reunited with my wife, but not before quite an ordeal.

I knew that it would be another cold and wet morning, and so I had planned to leave Tok around 11am. Despite the late start, it was still a bitter 38F as I mounted up, and the light morning rain soon turned into a downpour. Though it warmed a bit as the day went on, and the rain came and went, the road also climbed up and down through elevation changes, and soon I felt keenly the difference between 42F (shivering) and 46F (cold, but manageable). Vision was heavily obscured while I shuddered miserably and sped down the road in search of warmer weather. Through these unhappy times, I could tell the terrain and forest was changing yet again, becoming almost rain-forest like at times. It reminded me of the Hoh in Washington state. I knew I was truly in moose territory now, and glanced at every shadow in the mist, constantly preparing for an emergency stop lest a bull lope absentmindedly into the road.