I arrived at Deadhorse Camp alongside Kendall C. and his Triumph Tiger 800. None of the doors had markings or signs to distinguish an entrance. Shortly, a man emerged and beckoned us inside. The warmth and shelter were a welcome surprise after such a difficult day. Kendall had a reservation for the night and each room came with two single beds. "Would you two like to share a room to cut rates in half?", asked the staff. I looked at Kendall's smile as he assessed me and the situation at hand. "After what we both went through crossing Atigun Pass today in the snow, I'd offer you a bed in my room." I was ecstatic. The kindness of strangers on motorcycles continues to amaze me. The first order of business however was dinner. The glorious buffet lasted only 15 more minutes and the chef beckoned us to chow down. I piled my plate high with salmon, rice, pasta, cornbread and more. The bountiful feast before me seemed unreal. My frozen boots and wet pants slowly warmed in the cafeteria as I enjoyed a meal with my new and much appreciated friend.

"Mike? You made it!!!" I looked up to see a jubilant Clare inch through the cramped cafeteria to give me a hug. Sam smiled from the table and rose to shake my hand. "I'm happy you two are okay!" I replied. They explained that they arrived the day prior and had wet but not nearly as snowy conditions for their 240mi push. I introduced them and Charles to Ken and proceeded to devour my plate, returning for seconds.

We sat and recounted each others stories over coffee. It meant so much to know these fellow riders had also endured the same crucible, albeit at a quicker pace and with heated gear, yet arrived safely. Kendall went down twice on the ice at Atigun Pass but fortunately was unscathed. A passing truck stopped and helped him right the heavy Tiger. Our conversation drifted to the Arctic Ocean tour and expedition shuttle that takes tourists on a sightseeing trip around the Prudhoe Bay Oilfield. The stop along the Arctic Ocean is the only way to actually set foot into the polluted body of water. Claire presented me with a small piece of driftwood. "Here take this little piece of the Arctic with you". I held the Y-shaped piece in my palm. It meant so much more after this day. It snuck safely into my breast pocket beside the gold cross from Kim V. and my passport.



Well fed and warming, it was time to pay for the extravagant meal. I was ready to pick up Ken's tab when he handed the clerk his credit card and paid for, not only the room, but also my meal! I was speechless. No matter of money pushing or protest would be accepted. He wished to treat me, the idiot who rode there on a scooter. I felt guilty and humbled all at once. We both fought the weather that day yet deep in his heart he held the capacity to care and be generous to me, a complete stranger. That day, Ken changed my life. I would be sure to pass it forward in the future whenever possible. Wow.

I unloaded some gear and quickly made my way to the showers. Steaming hot water thawed my weary bones. I moaned in absolute elation and release while my skin changed color back to normal as blood began to flow more freely to the whitened extremities. I savored the heat until it hurt then towelled off and retired to the single bed. Ken and I shared a few stories and events before fatigue overtook me. "I feel like I've been running on adrenaline for hours and it finally ran out" said Ken shortly before drifting off to sleep. Rainstreaks patterned the glass and ticked off the metal roof. I was safe, warm and dry. I had survived the trip from Coldfoot to the Arctic. I had achieved my "goal" to ride to Prudhoe Bay. A well earned smile stretched across my face and I fell fast asleep.

A cool rain fell on me as I cruised away from the vehicle laden roads of Fairbanks into the quiet mountains. The Elliot Hwy turns in Livengood toward Manley Hot Springs and I continue north to the Dalton Hwy.

I would grow very familiar with the mud shown in this picture. The rain fell throughout the day as I worked my way up to Coldfoot. I picked my line around puddles and slippery ruts created by the heavy loads hauled north to Prudhoe Bay.

I came across a man towing a handcart and gave him a granola bar. He was from Japan and didn't speak English very well.

On the return trip I learned his name was Cho and he began in Dawson City Mile 0 of the Alaska Hwy in April and is slowly approaching his goal of Prudhoe by September. What an amazing feat!

I camped at Marion Creek CG in Coldfoot as a cool rain fell. It was 11PM before I turned in for the night but of course the sky was still bright.

The following morning greeted me with more rain. The surrounding mountains now sported a dusting of white snow which I knew would soon be all around me as I climbed in elevation.

It began to snow in large white flake yet I motored up the rises and past the timberline. The majestic peaks of the Brooks Range soared overhead, their dark rocks contrasting against the virgin snow.

Soon the snow accumulations were becoming alarming. I could no longer feel my fingers in the wet gloves and my toes were becoming numb. I have four extra pairs of gloves which are much warmer but naturally I'm saving them for worse conditions. I am always sure things will get worse before they get better.

Trucks appeared in the distance high up into the mountains. A passing RV flagged me down to warn of ice ahead. "I'll go as far as I can" I murmured in my helmet. Tense muscles and shaking legs made me ache all over. I passed Chandler Camp of the Alaska Hwy Dept where snow fell heavier and the wind began to howl. Arctic cold cut right through my GoreTex and wool layers making me shiver uncontrollably. I would later learn that temps were 24F when I was riding through and gusts up to 30mph. Truckers in t-shirts emerged from their heated oasis to put on snow chains. I motored past pushing with my feet when the scooter slid sideways on the snow.

I finally came to a parking area and what appeared to be a steep grade downhill. "yeehaw!" I screamed , then paused...I didn't know if I could make it back up the other side. The internal struggle between safety and turning around or following my dreams and heart forward into the frozen unknown was quick. I've come this far...I'll drag the damn bike up the hill tomorrow if I have to. Deadhorse or bust! The downhill grade sloped and made for port traction in the ice. I kept an eye out in my mirrors for any trucks barreling down behind but none came. The vista was breathtaking and soon the road surface improved after a grader swept the gravel clean.

I could see the road sloping downhill into a white snow storm and knew I was done with the worst of it. Little did I know the hardest part was yet to come. Cold winds blew a wet snow on my visor and upper body limiting visibility and lowering core temperature. Slippery road conditions were made worse by the use of Calcium Carbonate as a solidifying agent. Ice formed around my riding gloves from the wind.

The construction zone's 30 minute wait allowed time to chat with the sign man who offered me a shack for windbreak while I scarfed down a granola bar and stamped frozen boots to the ground. I was waved to follow the pilot truck 15mi trough the zone. Not 5 minutes into my slow struggle up the first rise, all 4 of my fuel bottles came dislodged and clanged out into the mud before the following semi trailer. Fortunately he swerved and I raced back to retrieve the precious fuel to carry me through to Deadhorse.

The remainder of the day was spent shivering and riding. The song lyrics "Keep that hand on the plow hold on!" Reverberated in my head until I was singing and whimpering all at once into the Arctic wind. I could only see 300ft in any direction and the sky was a bright white. The miles ticked down as I drew closer to Deadhorse. Unlike a motorcycle where the miles roughly equate to minutes @60mph, I had to double them and then some to figure out my distance. By the end of the construction I had 125mi to Deadhorse, or 6 hrs at my daily avg of 20mpg. It was going to be a cold and difficult day. The afternoon dragged on and I forced myself to eat a banana an granola bar for heat. I also had to refuel the Ruck twice. Numb fingers clumsily fumbled the fuel bottle caps and failed to properly zipper close Velcro. In time I would ask for spiritual guidance and cry out to my mother for help. That was a first. It was a pitiful spectacle of near death conditions while I kept the throttle pinned. After may hours of thought and overcoming emotions repeatedly, the tower of Deadhorse Airport and an oil rig shone ahead. The horizon along Prudhoe Bay had a golden hue to it and the slightest blue shone distant beyond the haze. It took an additional 20min to arrive which felt like a lifetime to my racked body and brain. No matter what a room cost, I was staying indoors tonight. Industrial equipment was in all directions and the hum of diesel generators hummed the camp a pitiful lullaby.. This truly was hell frozen over.

The morning came with sprinkles and a steady drizzle as I loaded up the Ruckus. Paint still stuck to my hair and beard after my day of painting and cleaning Phil's place in preparation for a Realator visit today.

Last night we dined on Alaskan Hallibut that Phil caught in Valdez last season. The Guiness Beer Batter was delicious and he really know how to host a guest!

So with a belly full of fish and a warm heart from hospitality beyond my imagination, I set out to Deadhorse, the farthest N one can ride in the US. My first stop tonight is Coldfoot, roughly half way there. I aim to motor out in the rain from Coldfoot tomorrow with my sights set on Prudhoe Bay down the Haul Road. This often muddy and hilly roller coaster of a road is the home of monstrous semis hauling equipment to the oilfelds. They own this road and I know it. I will feel like a small life boat in a sea of sharks as I stay to the right and dodge the muck and truck.

This destination has existed for years in my imagination and I slowly aim to realize my goal: VA>FL>AK.

Fingers crossed!

On Wednesday morning I suited up and headed out into the bunky morning weather for the respite of College Coffee in Fairbanks. At the intersection of University and College St, this hip coffee house attracted UAF professors and local intellectuals alike. Folks chatted about curriculum and analytical concepts as I sipped on coffee. I me taken Ken S. outside Lowes the day prior and he suggested I stop in for the morning coffee club of motorcyclists. He soon showed up along with the founder of the BMW shop in town. I fielded a number of questions from the seasoned travelers and spent the morning chatting with Ken and friends. Around 9:30, Richard M. ( blog.machida.us ) showed up on his blue and white Ural Patrol in a bright hiviz Roadcrafter Lite. We introduced ourselves and I was surprised to learn he is familiar with Chris and Dom's blog - having hosted both of them as they toured through Alaska! No wonder his name looked familiar. I had a swell time chatting with them and sharing experiences in motorcycling and travels north to Prudhoe Bay on the haul road. Around lunch time we stood in the drying parking lot and chatted some more, UDF in full swing, and set out into the day.

Richard was kind enough to include an entry about me on his wonderful blog. I consider it a n honor to have met these fine gentleman and sincerely look forward to an opportunity to have lunch when I swing back through Fairbanks next week. You meet the nicest people on a Honda indeed!