Running East-West across the top of Alaska, the Brooks Range defines an enormous shift in climate and vegetation. Crossing the Atigun Pass one leaves behind the green rolling hills of spruce trees, the lakes and the rivers. Ahead lies what appears to be a barren open wasteland, the tundra. The tufted light brown vegetation lies on a layer of peat bog, and the small streams are the color of whisky. The day was warm and clear. The clay road was firm and smooth. Certain sections (just out of Coldfoot) were nicely paved.   We could see for miles as we tore along the gravel road, down the long valley out of the mountains, and then North over the undulating plain towards the sea. Alex, my partner for this (and the return) leg of the journey, was enjoying it tremendously. He did not mind in the least when I wanted to stop for photos. We slowly dropped down from the hills to the Sagavanirktok River which flows North out of the Brooks Range. We followed the river up to Deadhorse, almost on the Arctic Ocean.   The lost world beauty of the austere landscape was, of course, marred by the pipeline, the road itself, and the camps and pump stations every twenty or thirty miles. So be it. Without them, we wouldn't be able to make the journey.

Soon after we joined the Sag River, we saw a small herd of Musk Ox out on the tundra . They could have been bison, except that they were tiny, the size of Shetland ponies. We did not see any caribou. Some 30 miles before reaching Deadhorse, we reached a section of the road where the River Sag had overflowed its banks in the Spring two years ago. In response to this, construction teams were raising the roadbed with sand and rocks. Great for containing floods. Unfortunately, this approach also contains motorcycles. As has been traditional, we were led through the construction zone by a pilot pickup. Yes, motorcycles were brought to the front of the line, but now this became a huge liability.   Getting the bikes through the gauntlet of uncompacted rock and sand was tough.   Both of us wobbled through followed hard on our heels by an audience of pickups and semi's, who cheered us on when they eventually roared past.    We almost "went down" a couple of times, but somehow managed to keep the machines upright and moving forward.   We reached Deadhorse ready to collapse . The Camp staff were extremely hospitable. the rooms warm and clean. We were treated to a really good meal of prime beef with all the fixings.    The folks at the Camp let us know we were living a heat wave, with the temperature at 65 degrees F.

I wandered out on the bike to see the sights and found “the Mall”, a long blue two story building on stilts – first floor hardware, second floor dry goods store with food, drugs and tourist items.   Taking photos in front of the sign, I met a couple from Punta Arenas (the southernmost tip of Chile) who had flown to Anchorage and then rented an RV and driven North as far as you can go -- which is where we now stood.    Totally charming, they invited me into their living room for a soda. We talked about why we were in Deadhorse, and agreed the effort had been worthwhile.