24 - Chicken Alaska

The Old-Wing was brown with dust, as was I. I'd just ridden the Top of the World Highway in under two-&-a-half hours; a 50mph average. While RV's were creeping along at 25, I rode by without a blip in the throttle. It was amazing. Though exhilarating, I'd decided to take a different route home. To be sure, my spine and my mechanical steed would both be grateful.

It's hard to describe the potholes or what it's like to ride among them. At low speeds, it's jolting and unsettling for both the bike and rider. However, at 50+ mph, the bike dances atop the gravel and glides (though admittedly not effortlessly) over the road irregularities. At times like that, one can only hope for a graceful dancing partner.

I don't know why I have a childhood memory of swing dancing and hearing my partner sing: " Swing your partner round and around, kick him in the butt and knock him down." Fortunately, I don't remembered any elementary school girls ever knocking me down. Equally as fortunate, today's dancing partner hadn't stepped on my toes either.

It was early, only 10:30 or so. Chicken was empty, save for the few residents. I took picture and walked about with an air of cockiness as a biker who just rode the Top of the World Highway on an old bike.

About an hour later, (after I'd bought an obscene amount of Chicken paraphernalia,) RV's that I'd passed like road signs, began to arrive.

Then, Pierre & Julia arrived. They were coming from the other direction and would soon experience the ride to Dawson (though they rode slowly, like responsible adults, rather than like a delusional biker, unaware that he was in fact, NOT riding a brand new BMW dual-sport GSA 1200.) They are from Ohio and had chosen to take this trip together via motorcycle, as opposed to flying in Pierre's plane. If there is anything cooler than that, I'm going to need some help brainstorming to come up with plausible scenarios that could trump their two-wheeled adventure.

For those of you who are following this blog not because we're friends, but rather because you're a biker in the planning stages, check out their very well written and well documented blog at: Pierre & Julia's Alaska trip on Four Wheels (that's Two Bikes!)

After talking for a bit, they invited me to join them for lunch and then treated me to a delicious lunch at the Chicken Cafe. Afterwards, we said goodbye and I went into the Saloon to write postcards. In Chicken, the mail comes twice each week.

I got all geared up and threw my leg over my bike, as I've done 1,000 times before. I turned the key... and nothing happened. The swagger from earlier was now gone, as I was just a broken down biker in a tiny town that's over three hours from anywhere. I faced my worst case scenario, an electrical problem. Earlier in the trip, I ate a Waterloo at Bonaparte's Retreat in Napoleon, IN. Here in Chicken, I was afraid I'd met my Waterloo. But before giving up, I had to tear down the bike and try to fix it.

 

 

 

Here are two of the guys that stopped to help. Chet (on the left) and his wife Jo are retired and spending the summer in Alaska with their RV and toy hauler. Chet made two trips via 4-Wheeler back to his camp to get tools. He helped out for a few hours. Gary, the handyman that lives year-round in Chicken and takes care of the property you'll see in the following pictures, had a multi-meter for me to use.

The problem was somewhere between the battery and the ignition. There weren't sufficient tools in Chicken to get to the ignition, and after spending 6 hours working on the bike, I went to the proprietor and asked to stay. Susan wouldn't hear of me staying in my tent and offered one of the tent-cabins out back. Her summer employees stayed in them and their was an empty one.

Nice. I settled in at the Saloon for an evening with the folks from Chicken. Chicken is named after the ptarmigan, a bird that fed many of the early Alaskans. No one could spell ptarmigan, so the town became Chicken.

Anyhow, the night was pretty cool. I met miners, mushroom hunters, prospectors, fisherman and a host of other interesting characters.

Robert & Lisa had spent a few years hunting morel's. I've never cooked with morel mushrooms. Prices can approach $50 per pound. They own a fishing boat and go out with their teenage sons for weeks on end and fish during good years. This wasn't anticipated to be a good year. So, this year, they spent the summer in Alaska where Robert was dredging. He'd get all suited up and dive to the bottom of the creek with a huge vaccum and dredge until he got so cold he'd have to surface. After shivvering in blankets for 30-50 minutes, he'd suit back up and do it again. Gold fever isn't limited to prospectors. The help is also compensated based on the gold discovered. Robert had a few good days and was hoping for a few more before winter set in.

Around midnight, (a few minutes after it finally got somewhat dark) in walked Elsa. She had been working all day and I hadn't talked to her. I'd been there over 12 hours and had talked to everyone else. We didn't talk for even five minutes. She looked at me and asked if I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since that morning when I ate with Pierre and Julia. She said she was going to bed as she had to work at 7:00, but would leave food in my tent. After a few more conversations and a few more hours, I went to my tent (which I'd yet to visit,) and found goodies... delicious goodies.

So here's the skinny on Chicken. There is no electricity, except what they generate themselves. There is no indoor plumbing. The outhouses are nice, but they are outhouses. The drinking water is all trucked in from Tok. The water for showers, etc. is all gathered on site. There is no phone service, land-line or cell reception. Susan has a satellite phone for emergencies and she offered to let me use it. Who would I call?

The only guy that runs a wrecker had a standard rate of $1,000 to haul people to Tok. Tok is 85 miles and 3.5 hours by truck. Yes, the roads are that bad.

Susan advised that I do anything other than call a wrecker. At $1,000, that's advice that I didn't need as it wasn't an option. I really hoped that something good happened so that I didn't have to make Susan the not-so-proud new owner of a broken-down Goldwing.

This picture shows me in the morning. After a long night on a mattress, I awoke feeling like a million bucks. The sunlight streamed in and the drone of the generator seemed distant. The rain pattered on the canvas. The fact that my broken-down machine still didn't run wasn't enough to wipe the sleep-inspired grin from my face.

I walked over to the buildings and found Susan and asked if there was anything I could do to help. I intended to take the obligatory look at my motorcycle to follow advice gleaned from saloon patrons the night before. Other than that, my calendar was empty. She wanted Ryan to go cut firewood, but he's only 15 and couldn't drive solo for a couple more months. I agreed and she tossed me the keys to the old GMC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The truck had four-on-the-floor with a granny gear for first that was only good up to about 3 mph. The shift throw from 1st to 2nd was about 18 inches. The clutch travel is about twice that of my Ford car. It was a blast to drive. We headed out in the hills and pulled over along the road to cut trees that had been burned in a forest fire. They make great firewood because the creosote has quickly been extracted and dried so the wood is much more preserved and burns much hotter than even well-seasoned firewood. The downside, it's all black and cutting it makes for messy work.

Ryan gave me the chainsaw and told me what to do. "Walk about in the Fireweed until you fall down. Then cut the tree that tripped you." Great. I didn't bother to tell him that I hadn't run a chainsaw since I was his age. He's a strong kid and picked up each of the trees that I cut and drug them out of the woods to the side of the road. I cut, he drug. "Only 300 to go," he laughed. After a few hours, we'd accumulated quite a pile and so I pulled up the truck and we took turns throwing the logs (15-30 feet long) onto the truck.

The beautiful pink "flowers" were everywhere. All over Alaska is the beautiful Fireweed. If only I had more pictures of it. I didn't know then that in 3 days, the Fireweed would all be gone.

Cutting firewood, blackened by forest-fire, in fields of Fireweed is a great way to spend an afternoon.

When I returned to Chicken, I was totally exhausted. Running a chainsaw for hours is much harder on hands, wrists, shoulders, and back than is riding an old 1,000 pound motorcycle over frost-heaves and potholes.

Tired and filthy, I was still smiling. (Though this picture was taken after only an hour's worth of work.)

When we returned, Ryan got to unload the truck while I went and sat down for lunch. Susan offered me anything on the menu in return for my help. It was late afternoon and the only thing I'd eaten was the blueberry muffin that Elsa had left for me.

As I finished my lunch, in walked Elsa. "Would you like to go to the mountains and pick wild blueberries with us?"

"Sure"

...and off we went. Elsa and Bill talked about herbal remedies and natural medicine while we rode toward the blueberry patch. I sat silently most of the trip as I really had no idea who I was with and was totally ignorant about the topic of conversation.

 

Elsa picked a bit more than me. Bill outdid us both.

After we got back, I overheard Bill say he was going to Anchorage in the morning.

"In the flatbed?" I asked. "Yes"

"Are you hauling anything?" I asked hopefully . "No"

"Would you haul me and my bike?" "Sure"

That was it. He spent the next two hours looking for something that would act as a ramp. I found five guys and the comedy show began. Getting the bike into that truck was a comical fiasco. If only I had pictures. The bike was loaded and off he went, promising to return at 7:00 to pick me up for the 12 hour ride into Anchorage.

I set off to take pictures.

Elsa saw me taking pictures as the rain drizzled down. She was off to go ride four-wheelers with a couple of guys that just showed up. It was her last night in Alaska and her friends were going to show her out in style.

"While I'm gone, you can go hang out in my place if you like. It's dry... it's inside."

Somehow she knew that the one thing I really needed was to be inside. It had been since Jackson, WY that I'd spent any time indoors. A week outside gets tiring. I made tea and took pictures. She had a cool little trailer. ...a trailer with a couch.

Below is my tent, Rebecca's (the cook / bartender) tent and garden, Elsa's trailer, and an old pickup. The pickup was flying the Jolly Roger. Arrgh! Pirates in Alaska!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elsa's flute, giant tip jar, candle, and lighter made for an interesting pictures. The lighter is in the pictures because it says "Chicken Alaska."

The horse was tethered outside. I never did get the scoop on el caballo.

Not bad for an afternoon's work.

I grew up using a Stihl chainsaw. My Dad still uses it and it's over 30 years old. Two-stroke motors run forever if you take care of them.

 

 

 

The back of my tent.

Riding gear, laptop and Redwing riding boots.

The little box-stove. My Dopp Kit is perched atop it as a reference as to its size. The stove is slightly bigger than two shoe boxes.

Susan offered for me to take a shower, perhaps for my benefit, perhaps for the benefit of her patrons. Either way, I was a happy guy.

The leftover goodies from Elsa's generosity the night before.

The other side of my tent.

I didn't get pictures of the bike in Chicken, but this is a picture taken around ten the next morning as we stopped for coffee.

It was a long ride to Anchorage, 12 hours. Bill is an amazing guy and we had great conversations all day.

As prospector, adventurer, traveler, and serial-entrepreneur, he had many cool stories.

As a Chicken native, he knew the area very well. The land, the animals, the changes, he knew them all. Over the last 40+ years, he'd spent winters all over the world. It would be easier to name countries he hadn't been to, than to try to name the ones he had been to. Unlike me on my adventure, he didn't spend a day in each place, but rather 3 or more months.

Wow.

Breaking down in Chicken will go down as one of the high points of this adventure.

 

Next:  25  -  Anchorage, The Repair & Back on the Road