Cycling the Dalton Highway

Arrival at Deadhorse. After months of preparation, the moment finally crystallises and we’re outside the terminal of the Deadhorse Airport with two bike boxes, a carton and large tennis bag we bought for a few bucks in a charity shop. We’ll leave Deadhorse with five days food and all our possessions in panniers and our Revelate Designs bikepacking kit.

After a full day of travel we’re keen to stretch the legs and check out our new surroundings. That’s the Aurora Hotel to the left (our digs for two nights). It’s below freezing, and this photo was taken about 10pm – we’re about to start experiencing the phenomenon of 24 hour daylight.

It’s almost unsettlingly flat and the frozen lakes, grey sky and tan ground almost seem to merge into one. Distance is very hard to judge and most of the horizon is dotted with oil wells and other infrastructure.

The mostly frozen Colleen Lake, the view from our hotel.

I have heard Deadhorse described in many ways, mostly negative, and some people asked us why we were staying one night, let alone two. But this icy, utilitarian town at the juncture of a frozen sea and a barren landscape held a strange fascination for both of us.

During sleet showers we took a tour to the Arctic Ocean to check out the sea ice – this is looking across Prudhoe Bay.

Dipping a hand in a puddle on the sea ice of the Arctic Ocean.

The following day we hit the road, teaming up with Dutch cyclist Rik Smit who had attempted to ride out of Prudhoe during a storm the previous day and turned back. This morning it was around -2 deg and sunny with little wind – a good start on the Dalton Highway.

The bulky shapes of oil derricks dot the landscape surrounding Deadhorse.

Hell of a place to be a lollipop girl – sub zero and a 12 hour shift…

The worst surface of the Dalton for cyclists is probably the first 50km out out Deadhorse – it’s covered in loose stone, more heavily trafficked and chewed up in places. Much of the rest was good hardpack with occasional seal. I’ve heard it can be a different story after prolonged rain though.

We follow the edge of the frozen Sag River for the first 80-odd kilometres with little to see on the horizon, but later the Brooks Range begins to take shape.

Lucky to spot caribou on the roadside.

On the morning of day two we leave camp in cold and damp conditions and ride rolling hills, crossing paths with Gaye and Ed (Northbound for this section) who are also on an extended Americas tour. Check them out here.

Muskox were a treat to see on the second day.

11 pump stations control the flow of oil in the pipeline – some speeding it up, but where it comes off the Brooks Range they slow down its flow.

It’s hard to find anywhere to get out of the wind the first few days on the road, and at the end of day two we ask permission to camp in the partial shelter of the yard for a service camp that has been set up to accommodate contractors working on fibre optic installation alongside the road. Each night Hana sends out a location ‘ping’ with our InReach – you can check out our nightly stops here.

We’re showered, fed, watered and entertained by the incredibly generous Thom and Marcie who are running the camp. Thom’s camp manager and Marcie is an ace cook who insists we eat all the food that the ‘meat and corn’ contractors won’t eat. We can’t believe our luck, until the first flakes of snow begin to fall overnight and we wake to 10 centimetres over everything.
My achilles tendon has become a problem over the past day, so with snow still falling we decide to take a day off – enjoying yet more amazing generosity from our hosts.

The snow arrives.

The camp is designed for Arctic comfort: insulated tents, oil-heating and designed to withstand snow and storms. Thom’s Alaskan huskies are great company too, when they’re not catching z’s.

It also doubles as a rest stop for truckers making the 14 hour haul from Fairbanks.

Marcie kept us well fed and entertained – and got us involved with a few kitchen duties.

Rik is great company too, and lends his physiotherapy expertise to my inflamed achilles tendon. We picked a good person to team up with! Rik is on a ride from Alaska to Panama, raising money for charity Spieren voor Spieren (Muscles for Muscles). Check out his Facebook page here. 

Giant, the Alaskan husky.

During the late afternoon it cleared.

It was good to be back on the road again, despite a dodgy tendon and we had very cold, clear conditions setting out, with virtually no wind. Sometime in the morning a 4WD pulled over and the occupants hollered to us that there was another storm coming that night with 5-8 inches of snow forecast.

The omnipresent pipeline.

Secrets of the Dalton: Thom tipped us off about a mail box full of candy and other goodies. A great mid-morning treat!

Lunch under the pipeline. Some clever mechanisms prevent the warm oil from melting the permafrost (and undermining the foundations) by cooling the supports with refrigerant. We had to isolate ourselves from the ground to prevent the permafrost from freezing us!

‘Aufeis’ in one of the streambeds feeding Galbraith Lake, just a few kilometres off the Dalton. We detoured to check out these great sheets of ice left behind from winter.

Aufeis is created as successive sheets of ice form on the lake and stream surface by water forced through cracks from the still flowing stream below.

Left behind are serac-like blocks, distinctively layered and fractured.

With a storm expected that night we decided to take refuge in a porch attached to the side of an unoccupied research hut. The wind did pick up and it snowed lightly all night, but not to the level expected.

Wherever I lay my head…

There was no increase in temps the following morning, with the mercury still hovering just below freezing.

By now we’d left the flat of the North Slope well behind and endless, gently rolling hills had finally merged into the Brooks Range. The valleys narrowed further as we were squeezed towards Atigun Pass (1444m), the highpoint of the road.

Climbing gently away from Galbraith Lake towards Atigun Pass. By means of some strange weather phenomenon, the higher we climbed and the further from the low ground of the North Slope we got, the less snow there was from storms the previous 48 hours.

The geology and landforms never ceased to amaze.

Just a couple of kilometres from the base of the pass.

Atigun Pass (1444m). Sun’s out finally and it’s time to go down…

More aufeis in the stream on the south side of Atigun Pass.

From the pass the road descends steeply for 500 metres to the Chandalar Shelf, which the road crosses for a few kilometres before dropping steeply again for another 300 metres.

And before you know it, you’re seeing the northern most trees on the highway. It’s a profound change. The fridge-like northerly-influenced North Slope is rapidly left behind for an entirely different climate and soon we’re ripping off leg warmers and jackets.

The landscape takes on a fresh texture and the tan hills are cloaked in green.

The first night over the pass we camp near a beautiful clear river and it’s warm enough to sit outside the tents without a down jacket on. Luxury.

3am skies over our campsite.

We’re loving the change of costume.

Rolling on down the valley – a scenic tour with easy pedalling.

Interesting peaks tower over the valley.

I forgot to mention the food at the Aurora Hotel in Deadhorse. The hotel isn’t cheap, but it comes with three all-you-can-eat cooked meals a day, along with an open pantry stocked with fresh sandwiches, fruit, drinks, candy and pretty much every kind of convenient snack you can imagine – available 24/7.
Rik filled his panniers with sandwiches from this pantry which he ate for breakfast and lunch for the following five days.

Heading down valley towards Sukakapak Mountain and Wiseman.

A truck driver pulls over ahead and places this 8 pack of Powerade on the road for us. Our black American benefactor’s shy though and makes to drive off before we reach him, but we get there just in time, shaking his hand and marvelling at the generosity of this Pulp Fiction-like character.

We detoured to the tiny town of Wiseman to check out some local history. Gold once drove this town, but these days it consists of a just a few people, accommodation for Aurora Borealis tourists and a small souvenir shop/cafe. The friendly locals told us tales of the town prior to the Dalton Highway being built, when the only way in and out was via air.

Jim ‘Sourdough Clutch’ keenly told us a few local tales until we politely escaped in search of shade and some legendary cinnamon rolls which we caught fresh from the oven and dripping with icing.

Next stop, just 30km down the road, was Coldfoot – the first gas station since leaving Deadhorse and the only place you can buy a hot meal other than Wiseman.

After a quick $14 shower we tucked into the all-you-can-eat buffet, sharing the dining room with pipeline workers, truck drivers and contractors.

We were happy to pick up our food parcel too. Without this facility, we’d have been carrying 11 days food from Deadhorse instead of the 5 we started off with.

The camp was established initially as a maintenance camp for the road and pipeline. These days it mostly serves truckers making the long drive north, but a small stream of tourists (mostly touring motorcyclists) passed through the two nights we were there.

Not an attractive spot and an absolute dustbowl when the wind blows, but heaven for tired cyclists.

We took a couple of shorter 60-70km days out of Coldfoot to take it easier on my achilles, lupines sometimes adding colour to the now constant green either side of us.

With forest and warm temps come mosquitos – big ones!

Fire helps keep them at bay.

Our crossing of the Arctic Circle turned into quite a social occasion; Hana met a man who grew up in Lyttelton, a couple of motorcyclists arrived – including Luis whom had ridden from his home in Ushuaia…

And this amazing guy ran in, with his support crew of three. Weking van Reeth is running 590 marathons in a row – from Deadhorse to Ushuaia. 42.2 km a day … mostly following the Pan American Highway.
Check them out here.

We shared the road with truckers consistently, though on the whole traffic was quite light, with a vehicle only every few minutes with sometimes long gaps between. The road’s wide enough for comfort and the drivers were amazingly courteous – usually slowing and giving us a wide berth.

The stunted nature of these far north spuce trees reminds us of high elevation forest back home.

But it’s striking cloud-scapes that catch our attention most of that morning.

Swampy lowlands en route to the Yukon.

A landscape that’s easy on the eye.

From Finger Mountain the road rolls gently on a downward course towards the Yukon River, seemingly endless boreal forest either side. We have to remind ourselves that this is the only road for thousands of kilometres, the rest is simply wilderness.

After the Yukon River the road hits the hills again – big ones – and we have several days in a row with around 1500m of climbing. On this day we struggled finding water, and a reasonable campsite after over seven hours pedalling and ended up in the mosquito infested fibre optic cable margin along side the road. It was baking hot, but without enough clothes you’d be eaten alive. It’s tricky eating dinner with a head net on.

Leaving a nice campsite alongside the Tolovana River.

A sunny morning perked the spirits but it was soon roasting hot again.

Millions of barrels a day pumping through nearby…

And we met some more cyclists – Ratna and Patrick heading north.

After three days of hot temps we make it to Fairbanks and stay with generous Warmshowers hosts Marilyn and Simon who keep us very well fed and help us with maintenance and a trip into town for parts and shopping. Simon is a local legend and very experienced bike pioneer and mechanic and is great for discussions of all things technical concerning bikes. The garage starts to overflow with bikes when Jenny and Curtis (another pair of cycle tourists from Texas) arrive via truck with a broken derailleur. It’s a full house that night!
We stayed three nights catching up on some work and to let my tendon settle, parting ways with Rik who has been excellent company for the first 850km of our ride.