7/14/14
Coldfoot, Alaska (Coldfoot Camp)
They call it Coldfoot because the miners used to stop here and get
cold feet. Sitting here now, waiting for
the VC to open before we get our stamps and continue north to Deadhorse, I am
starting to get cold feet. It is a
familiar feeling, the one I get before embarking on a crazy drive, an ambitious
trip, or a strenuous hike. It was the
feeling I had at Ataturk before I got on the plane to Iran. It was the feeling I had before I embarked on
my Eurotrip. It was the feeling I had
before I drove up to Canada for the first time.
It was the feeling I had before I went on a hike that I knew would last
all day a decade ago at MathCamp. I
cannot remember once turning around.
The drive so far has been fine,
better than fine, in fact. We are ahead
of schedule, too far ahead, instead.
It
is not the prospect of doing the same drive to Deadhorse that scares me. It is this rain and what it might do to a
dirt/gravel road. In Central America,
Fernando would have called this a great road, and it is leaps and bounds better
than the roads we took to and from the Biosphere. It is even significantly better than the
McCarthy Road. I had budgeted on
averaging about 30 mph on this drive, and, so far, we have been averaging 60
mph, even hitting 100 mph at one point while the road was still good. The condition of the road is steadily getting
worse, and the rain is not helping. To
make matters worse, we are running the risk at arriving at one of the three gas
stations on the way back when they are closed between midnight at 5 AM. If that happens, we would need to wait at
either Coldfoot Camp or Yukon River Camp until it opened at 5 AM. Granted, we would still be ahead of schedule,
but it would be annoying for that to happen.
If we can continue at this pace, we will get back to Yukon River Camp by
midnight, even with stops and an hour of Dutch Time. If that happens, we could get back to
Anchorage around noon. Otherwise, we are
looking at a 5 PM (or 7 PM) arrival time.
7 PM was our original schedule, so that would be fine. It might even do us some good to get some
rest, since Sokol is not sleeping well in the car, and I’m not sure how much of
the driving he’ll be able to do.
I had a
bit of a trouble getting Sokol out of bed this morning, but we were not much
behind schedule, even stopping at the northernmost Denny’s for breakfast. We were right on schedule when we took our
first official Us on the Dalton Highway at Mile 0. We were ahead of schedule when we got to
Yukon River Camp. We are now 2.5 hours
ahead of schedule. That means we have to
wait 2 hours here for the VC to open, but, with the adorable waitress who
certainly has the Northern look, it might not be that bad of thing. I have mentioned numerous times how much I
love the Northern look, and I have explained how it ties directly in with my
love of the North. We gassed up, and I
got a t-shirt, just as I did at Yukon River Camp. I will get one at Deadhorse, as well. We also ordered what I suppose was our
lunch. After eating, I proceeded to
write this entry, which I will now close so that I might be able to get some
shuteye before the VC opens.
Deadhorse, Alaska (Prudhoe Bay)
In all of my travels, I have only visited one city where I felt more
scared, more out of place than I feel right now, here in Deadhorse. That city, of course, is Bethlehem,
Palestine. Not Tehran, not Moscow,
Detroit, not anywhere in Central America.
Everyone in this hotel dining hall has the same color skin, speaks the
same language, and is the same nationality as I. Why, then, do I feel so out of place? Yukon River was a little camp with a gift
shop, hotel, restaurant, and gas station all rolled into one. Coldfoot was exactly the same. I expected the same at Deadhorse. I was dead wrong. It is a company town to the extreme. Other than Sokol and I, everyone in this
room, maybe everyone in town, is connected to the oil business up at Prudhoe
Bay. They know we are not, and we are
out of place. Driving to and from the
gas station, Sokol and I both felt physically frightened. We just wanted to get the hell out of here,
but we needed to take care of our car and stomachs first.
After I closed in Coldfoot, we headed over to
the VC parking lot, and I don’t think I quite fell asleep, but we headed into
the VC as soon as it opened. They had
stamps, brochures, pins, and t-shirts for Gates of the Arctic NPP. Technically, I could have collected my
stamped brochure there, which I did, and skip Anatuvik pass, but, I am who I
am, and I will be spending over a week’s net pay to collect that Most Wanted
stamp if possible. I called the ranger
station, and he said he would call me and my pilot if he would not be around on
Wednesday. After we got we got my
official stamps, pin, and t-shirt, we got back on the road. 240 miles to Deadhorse. Parts of the road were great, while others
were really bad. The rain came and went,
and it didn’t really do anything other than make the road slick, but I
managed. When I ran out washer fluid,
the rain was actually a boon. At one
point, I noticed that the tire pressure was low. We stopped for official Us, the mosquitos
absolutely biting us up at the second spot, and the views during the drive
ranged from boring to breathtaking.
When
we finally passed into Deadhorse, we tried and failed to find a good spot for
an “end of the road” photo. We opted to
get the “no access” photo, and I tried turning around, but the road was too
narrow, and I held up a truck for about 5 seconds. A pickup pulled up beside me and started
balling me out. I just said,
“Okay.” He then said, “Oh, and you’ve
got a flat, by the way.” We got out to
take our picture, and, sure enough, we had a flat. That was the low pressure icon we had seen
earlier. We headed to the gas station,
and a very helpful worker there jacked up our car and changed the tire. He also told us where to get souvenirs,
washer fluid, and dinner. He did not,
however, know where to find a regular car tire in town. I got a Deadhorse t-shirt, but I wanted a
Dalton t-shirt. The hotel he recommended
for dinner was too close to the oil fields, and we just didn’t feel comfortable
there, not at all. Prudhoe Bay Hotel had
a better option, and it had a nice buffet, even if slightly overpriced, along
with some much better souvenirs. We
opted for that, and I got a big plate of protein. It was so good, and I will now close so that
I can get some more pork before we head back.
En route, AK-11, Alaska (Dalton Highway)
The say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. This road was mostly unpaved. Away from that hellish place and sitting in
the passenger seat with practically no time limits, so long as we get to
Fairbanks by the time the NPS office opens tomorrow morning, I can finally
relax. Well, for the most part. As much trust as I have in Sokol as a driver,
he does not have the kind of experience I have on roads from hell. This wasn’t even the worst road I drove. It wouldn’t even make the top five. It was just a longer distance than any of the
others. The end of the Pan-American
Highway, my loving road in Bosnia, some of the roads on my CA-4 trip, they were
all worse. The 50-mile detour I took in
Minnesota was worse. This road was paved
most of the way, and it had good unpaved parts.
I was able to drive over 60 mph most of the way, something impossible on
those other roads. We are now back on the paved
portion of the highway, which makes it much easier to write my entry, but it is
just not the same.
I suppose that I am
still short a bit of philosophy, so I will go to a classic. Politics.
The standard argument against Libertarianism is to ask, “Who will build
the roads?” The answers are varied. One answer is that, if the government didn’t
build roads, companies would invent modes of transportation that did not
require roads. Another answer is to say
that the same contractors who currently build them would still build them and
insist the question be, “Who will finance the roads?” In that case, answers offered are the car
companies, the tire companies, the individuals served by the roads, the
businesses served by the roads, and private road develop companies. Since a road is very big and very vague, it
is better to consider the example of a bridge.
Imagine two towns separated by a river with no crossing in 50 miles in
either direction. In order for someone
living in one town to drive to the other town, he needs to drive 100 miles out
of way, meaning he uses 4 gallons of gas and 2 hours. Even considering someone working at minimum
wage, that is quite a bit of money. Now,
imagine a private developer was allowed to come in and, at his own expense,
build a bridge across that road. It
would be expensive, but not ridiculously so.
Now, imagine that he charges a toll of half that sum of money that was
previously discussed. The developer
makes money, and the people using that bridge cut the cost of their commute in
half. That’s great, right? It’s capitalism. Okay, now let’s go one step further. Oil is discovered in Prudhoe Bay, but there
is no road that connects Prudhoe Bay with the rest of the road system. Okay, the oil companies can pool together
their money to finance a road to be built from Livengood to Deadhorse. 414 miles of road, the cost would be a drop
in the bucket compared to the potential revenue to be had from the oil
drilling.
Why then, does the State of
Alaksa fund the James A. Dalton Highway instead of allowing the oil companies
(or a private road developer) to purchase the land required to build the
road? The answer that would be given is
“because the oil industry brings jobs to Alaska.” If the jobs are profitable, which they are,
and there is revenue to be had, which there is, the jobs will come, along with
the money and resources required to enable those jobs. If the industry was not profitable enough
without a government-funded road, it should not exist in the first place. Every bullshit argument offered by the
liberals would reduce to a basic redistribution of wealth, even going back to
the basic example of the simple bridge.
“What if the minimum wage worker can’t afford the toll?” Then, either he should find a job on his side
of the river or move to the other side of the river. Alternatively, if it was worth it for the
company to have that worker, they would pay for his toll. There is no argument that can be effectively
made against the privatization of roads that does not reduce to redistribution
of wealth, which is entirely different debate, and not one I care to entertain
in this Travelogue. I just hope whoever
the Libertarians find to build the roads are not the ones who built this
road. Actually, that’s not fair. The road, as a whole, was much nicer than I
had expected based on what I read online, and we are now back on one of the
meaner stretches. I just venture that,
if it were privately funded, the entire road would have been like the better
stretches.
Stranded, MP 231, AK-11, Alaska (Dalton Highway)
I always said it would be the Dalton Highway that would make or break us. For a while, it looked like it was going to
make us. After I closed en route, we
were laughing and joking, thinking about all of the pranks that we could pull
when we returned the filthy car. We even
took official Us at the Antigun Pass, the highest road point in Alaska. Then, it all changed. It looked like the road disappeared. It was washed out. I had no idea how bad it was, so I told Sokol
to go for it. He did. We got stuck.
I panicked. There was no way
out. We tried everything. Then, we saw a truck in the opposite
direction. I ran through the mud. Nothing mattered, not the bugs, not mud up to
my knees. Just getting to the
truck. They couldn’t help us. They recommended that we wait for a truck
coming our direction to pull us back on the road.
En route, Sean’s Truck, AK-11, Alaska (Dalton Highway)
The truck finally came from the other direction, but they couldn’t
help us either. He balled us out for
being so stupid and then asked where we were from. “New York,” I answered apologetically. He told us the bulldozer operator was coming,
and he would be able to get us out. I
watched him shove away the sludge, slowly lowering the water level. It looked like we would get free. Then he stopped, leaving us on top of a
pedestal. All through this time, I
remained calm, on the outside at least.
I kept getting wetter and wetter, and colder. Soon, the car was not our only problem. If we did not get free, we would be dealing
with hypothermia. Another guy was really
helpful trying to free our car, but there was nothing to be done. They were going to have to tow us out of the
mud, and they thought it would break our bumper to do so. I told them to go ahead.
However, they were able to find a way to use
the front grill. He started towing us,
and we were free! Or so I thought. We couldn’t move. The electronic transmission was stuck in
neutral. Now, there truly was nothing to
be done, not that that stopped us from trying.
We all failed. The guy said that
we should ask a trucker to take us to Coldfoot and make arrangements from
there, so that was what we had to do. I
started to write the proceeding entry, which I abruptly closed as soon as a
truck pulled up beside us. I asked him
if he could take us to Coldfoot, and he agreed.
Meanwhile, I was barefoot, and I needed new socks. It would be quite a process to get the new
socks and to put my shoe and boot back on.
I was worried that the truck would leave us, but he didn’t. I grabbed the essentials. Our phones and chargers, my computer bag, our
leftover dinner, my water bottle, my cigar tools, and the gallon of bottled
water we had. I hopped into the truck,
and we were on our way, now heading to Coldfoot. Hopefully, we can figure things out from there. It’s looking like I won’t get that last
Denali stamp, but we should be able to make our flight Wednesday morning to
Kotzebue, even if the towing costs an arm and a leg. We wanted an adventure, and we certainly have
one.
Coldfoot, Alaska
We are in Coldfoot. Our car is
not. After a fun drive with a very
friendly driver, we made it Coldfoot. I
went into full planning mode at that point, evaluating all of our options and
figuring out just how to make that flight to Kotzebue. When I get data service back, I will go back
into full planning mode and consider additional options. As it is now, I left Sokol with detailed
instructions on what to do in the morning to arrange for our tow. While I was doing that, Sokol got us a room
for the night, where we now are. I
proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can crash.
7/15/14
Coldfoot, Alaska
I have no desire, no energy, no appetite, nothing. I can’t feel anything. I am totally numb. I cannot even say I’m depressed. To be depressed would be to feel
something. I feel nothing. All I know is that with absolute certainly my
world will surely end if I am not on that 7 AM flight to Kotzebue tomorrow
morning. I seem to have solved the
problem. It might cost an arm and a leg,
or it might not even cost anything at all.
Whatever the cost, it is less than the cost having to repeat this
trip. I say have to because missing out
on two National Parks is not an option.
I refuse to consider it. Sure,
there might be a way to rework to do the two National Parks in just one day in
Kotzebue, but it is a huge risk and makes us a slave to the weather. Just as I am completely numb now, I now I
will be so happy once I get to Ted Stevens.
I said that the Dalton will make or break this trip. Tomorrow morning I will find out if it was
made or broken. If I am on that plane to
Kotzebue, this will be the single most epic story of the trip. If I am not, and I cannot visit those two
National Parks, it will be a disappointment too great for me to handle. Recently, I have been happy, truly happy, for
the first time in my life. The Efficient
Causes of that Happiness are all still there, but such failure on this trip
would wipe them all out. Emotions are
our response to facts. There is no way
around that. After I closed last night,
I couldn’t sleep. I was still too deep
in planning mode. I did come up with
some good solutions, but it was at the cost of my sleep. Even when I woke up again in the morning, I
couldn’t get back to sleep, my mind racing. Eventually, I gave it up and made some phone
calls. I made a reservation with Hertz
to get a car from Fairbanks to Anchorage.
It would cost a lot, but it would be less than the cost of rearranging
the flights. They would be open until 1
AM. If we left after 1 AM, we wouldn’t
be making that flight, anyway. I then
called the company that rented us the Jeep.
They would make good on everything, including giving us a replacement if
they had one available, even at 10 PM. I
should have been celebrating, but that would be premature. I will celebrate at Ted Stevens.
I suppose that the reason I am like this is because it is all out of
my control. There is absolutely nothing
I can do other than wait for the tow truck, wait for him to bring us to
Fairbanks. Once we’re in Fairbanks, we
are back in control, but, until then, it is out of our hands. I hate that.
However, all throughout this process, I have not done anything
irrational (other than the initial decision to tell Sokol to try and drive
through it). I have not cried. I have not prayed. I have not got angry at anyone. I have not screamed. I have remained calm and considered all of my
options at every point, carefully evaluating each one. I have come up with the two best conceivable
options, but they hinge upon us having a new car in Fairbanks by midnight. We cannot control that. Once we get the new car, we can control
it. Until then, it is out of our
control. It is torture.
En route, Bryan’s Tow Truck, AK-11, Alaska (Dalton Highway)
It has been 24 hours since I’ve had a bite to eat, and I have no
appetite. I cannot remember the last
time I went that long with zero food. I
spent almost the entire day in bed. I’m
not sure how much actual sleep I got.
Sokol tried everything he could encourage me or cheer me up, but he had
no more power than he did in Homer. I
suppose the reason that I wanted to stay in bed was because I knew that, if I
was awake, my mind would be singularly occupied by thinking of when the tow
truck would be there, if we would be able to make our flight. I knew that I could not enjoy food or coffee
or a cigar or focus on NFPA 25 or anything with my mind so preoccupied. As it was, even in bed, trying to sleep, I
kept running those vigorous calculations.
Sokol called them at one point, and they said that the guy was going to
pick up the car first then swing by to pick us up. That changed things. No longer was 3 PM that magic number. Now it was more like 6 PM he could get here
and comfortably leave us enough time to make our flight. At 3:30 PM, we heard a knock on the
door. Our tow truck was there. My heart leapt. Then I thought for a minute. There was no way he could have made it all
the way to our car and back to Coldfoot by 3:30 PM. No way.
Sure enough, there was no car on his tow truck. I told him how important it was that we were
back at Fairbanks before midnight, and he seemed convinced he could make
it. I was not so sure. He said that the ride in was slow because he
got caught behind a bunch of trucks.
I
figured that the earliest he could be back in Coldfoot with the car would be 6
PM, and the best he could the drive from Coldfoot to Fairbanks would be 5
hours, which meant that we he absolutely needed to be back at 7 PM. Sokol said that I did manage to fall asleep
this time, and we left the room at 6 PM.
That was another boon. The hotel
said that we could sleep in and use the room as late as we wanted until our car
came. We went to the café across the
way, and I still had no appetite, desire to finish the delicious sausages and
bacon I had gotten from the buffet in Deadhorse. I just wanted one thing. To make that flight to Kotzebue. Then Sokol said the magic words. Our car was there. It was 6:30 PM, and the driver was convinced
he could make it to Fairbanks by midnight.
From there, we should be able to do the drive to Anchorage in 5 hours,
which leaves and hour of Dutch Time, though I would love nothing more than to
have that hour at Ted Stevens to write a triumphant airport entry.
As we make our way to Fairbanks, I am still not in control of the
situation, and it bothers me. I
understand why people resort to, shall we say, irrational measures in these
cases. I understand the value of
surrendering oneself and start crying, letting up all of your negative emotions
in that way. I understand the value of
prayer, deciding that there is a higher power than self and that an appeal to
that power can make everything all right.
I understand these coping methods.
I just choose to use none of them.
The pain in my foot abruptly disappeared during this whole ordeal, and I
was too caught up in all of it to realize at first. It changes nothing, other than my choice in
footwear and my actions when I return to New York. This trip, like the CA-4 trip, has a much
higher standard of success than, say, the Tokyo trip. There, success was measured purely by setting
foot inside that stadium. Here, it is
measured by officially visiting 8 National Parks in Alaska and the sites in
Canada. An official visit means a
stamped brochure and a Cuban during a hike/nature walk in park boundaries. We did the Canada bit, and we have hit 4
National Parks in Alaska. There are
still 4 left. The charter flights
required to see those parks are 50% of my total budget for the trip. If I hit all 4, it will have been worth every
penny. If not, I will be
devastated. That’s all we have left for
the Alaska portion of the trip. It
certainly doesn’t feel like we left Kennedy almost 2 weeks ago. In Juneau, I wrote that the design of this
trip was in sharp contrast to last year’s Eurotrip. So too have been the results.
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