Deadhorse Camp

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.

Never has a warm meal meant so much.

"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.

Charles, Clare, Sam and Ken

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.

My mud encrusted stitch kept my body dry. I love that thing.

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.