Four Miles in the Heart of the Mountain

The next day, which they tell me is Monday despite not being at work, was also laid back. We had to pick up my mother around 4:00pm at the airport then head down to Whittier to catch the ferry, but aside from that we were free. The Fellowship began to drift apart. Biju decided to take a glacier cruise and left early that morning. Scott returned in his bike and picked up a rental truck, he'd be staying in AK for another week. We fooled around in downtown Anchorage at the tourist shops most of the morning.

After lunch we packed our bags back on the bikes and picked up my mom. Whittier is about an hour's ride to the south of Anchorage along the tidal basin. It's amazing country, with glaciers holding fast to the mountains, sending icy torrents to join the rivers far below. Whittier is little more than a port, and the town is cut off by icy peaks. The only way into town, other than boat, is to go through the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel. Bored through a mountain, it stretches four dark miles under the rock. It's not more than 15 feet wide, and the tunnel floor is bisected by a rail line cut into the rock. It's a little precarious in a bike, should you stray too far to either side into the rail you're certain to go down. Each mile felt like an age as we rode on under the orange glow of the fluorescents.

Once we passed through that night we were in Whittier. The ship, the MV Kennicott, was slow to board. The port didn't have the facilities to refuel, so they had to run tankers into the hold to top up. After sitting in the rain and the cold for a few hours they finally let us into the ship to tie the bikes down in the car deck.

My berth sleeps four in a hair less space than my freshman dorm, which is to say it is a spacious walk-in closet. This is not a problem since I'm the only one staying there and I've got a porthole wide enough to sit in and watch the world go by.

We ate in the ship's cafeteria, which wasn't serving the full menu as late as we got in. It was enough, we just wanted something hot in us after waiting outside for so long!

Skyriding

The day after our ride to the Arctic Circle was meant to be an easy one. The plan was to switch tires and change oil at Adventurecycle in Fairbanks, then drive a few hours to Anchorage. Our mechanic Dan was great, but it took into the early afternoon before he was done with our bikes. It's mostly my bike's fault, cruisers can be a hassle to work on without a center stand and the bike shop back home had turned all the bolts to nigh impossible tightness. In fact, he said my bike would be the last cruiser he ever worked on if he could help it!

The day started wet and continued to worsen the longer we were in Fairbanks. By the time my bike was done it was pouring down, so I wasn't especially looking forward to the open road. Thankfully it cleared up not far out of town. The road was beautiful, we followed a ridgeline in and out of the low clouds. The mountains were gorgeous and everpresent, huge rocky faces covered in snow so close I felt that I could ride up them if I turned off the road. Scott had gotten some incredible shots of Denali the day before, I'm sure some of them have already been posted here, we weren't so lucky. The clouds covered the peak, like they usually do. The peaks we saw were still astonishing!

A crazy thing happened past the Denali camp, we saw moose again. The road was cut between two taller hills, covered in low trees. A moose burst out of brush onto the side of the ride at full tilt, which was exciting except that it kept coming onto the road. Then a copper-colored calf joined what I now realized was a mother. The kind that kick people to death for being close to their young. We threw on the brakes, and I started to lay a stripe behind me, when the two, still at a full gallop, turned off the road and lumbered back into the trees.

We rolled into Anchorage, and after a quick seafood dinner we crashed at the hotel.