June 5, 2025
Harding Lake State Park to Fairbanks
Waking up, knowing today would be the last day of my tour, I felt myself surrendering to the inevitable. The energy required to pedal, focus, and absorb my environment was beginning to diminish. I really didn’t want that part to end. But the distance from Kathy, my home responsibilities, and reengaging with our kids (and grandson!), would soon become the foremost important parts of my life again. This alternative universe in which I’ve been living for five weeks would be in the rear-view mirror. It’s time to begin re-entry.
The evening at Harding Lake was strange because there were no other campers in the large campground and I couldn’t detect any human or vehicular movement around the vacation homes lining the lake’s shore. Human activity depended on the weather warming up just a bit more and then exploding like the impending 4th of July fireworks. The brief summer and long days make for an incredible bevy of internal combustion craziness and a warmth-fueled release from realizing it’s okay to venture outside without wearing three layers of clothing. I got anxious just thinking about the limited time available to take advantage of what I saw: beautiful calm lake surface, lack of mosquitoes, and sun filtering through broken clouds. I was very much alone on the lake shore even though it was easy to imagine human masses descending on the ground where I stood in as little as seven days from today.
Getting on the bicycle was easy, not emotional, and I reversed course toward the Richardson Highway. Riding through the mixed spruce, larch, and deciduous forest interspersed with homes in varying conditions of extreme care to decay, I mentally prepared myself to grow accustomed to more vehicles, development, and people. Of course it’s not hard to do when you’ve live in a densely populated place long before a trip like this. You just don't have the luxury to know that this is a temporary condition until you get on the other side of town. In my case, “town” is the end of the road.
Immediately upon turning onto the shoulder of the highway, I feel the traffic pressure. The incessant ore rock-carrying trucks are still there, but they seem to have picked up a following. Those long ten-minute breaks between vehicles are at most 10-second breaks now. These last 50 miles will be just like riding any arterial in any population center. To bolster my attention span, I stopped at the Salcha Store for another cup of coffee and a very green banana that I cannot finish. Then it’s back onto the Richardson.
Not far into the ride, the familiar roar of jet engines reverberates from just beyond the birch, poplars, and spruce green screen separating me and the highway from the Eielson Air Force Base runway where a squadron of F-35s is practicing takeoffs, landings and maneuvers to intercept enemy aircraft and missiles. Pretty soon, the green screen is gone and I’m next to the runway. Each aircraft landing and takeoff screams at me on my right side while the approaching traffic on the left side hammers me with their proximity and tires blaring from the pavement. It’s a sonic torture test for at least three miles! Unfortunately, I don’t have an eject button and must endure until I get to the end of the runway. Once clear of the jet noise, I’m back into the rhythm of my ride.
The road is flat as a board, and the traffic increased dramatically since passing the air base. It’s now a four-lane highway. I crossed the Corps of Engineers Chena River Flood Control Project while looking for a bicycle trail that was supposed to intersect nearby. Instead, I crossed paths with the last southbound international bicyclist of my trip, Phillip, from New Zealand. He just started from Fairbanks and he said he wanted to go to L.A. where he had friends. He’s an experienced bicycle tour rider and asked me about potential places to bed down the next few nights. I made sure he knew it was very remote for most of the trip and to always have water. With that advice, we parted ways.
I was getting hungry and since I was approaching the town of North Pole, I figured I could find someplace to have a meal. Bingo! Outlaw Tamales. Open Th-Sa, until 2 PM or when they sell out. Once I pulled off the highway, the tamale stand was just a half-mile away. It was just an old repurposed drive-thru coffee stand and sold outstanding tamales, best I’ve had for a long time. When I finally finished gorging myself, I looked up and discovered I was next to Santa Claus House! There was the Santa statue and all sorts of tourists milling around. I’m sure they were feeling satisfied that they could go to North Pole, Alaska and find Santa.
Luckily, the freeway turn-off was also the road I was going to follow to get to my host’s, Bob and Jean, home. Bob met me at the end of their driveway and it felt great to be back in Fairbanks. The leaves on the deciduous trees — poplar, birch and aspen — made it seem like a tropical paradise even though it was only 52º. The unseasonably cool temperatures didn’t affect me on my bicycle, but if I lived here I certainly would be getting antsy with the late summer.
Bob and Jean were exceptionally gracious hosts, especially since I didn’t give them much lead time about my arrival. I originally didn’t plan a trip to Fairbanks, but I’m very glad I did. I spent two nights with them and two nights with Dave, who had quite a bit going on. His wife was out of town and he was busy with selling their home and belongings before moving to Corvallis. I really appreciated Dave’s hospitality and allowing me to stay there while he was closing out on 40 years of living in Fairbanks.
For the last two nights, I have slept in a cabin at Tonglen Lake Lodge owned by a longtime friend, Donna, just outside of Denali National Park. I took the train from Fairbanks on Monday. It’s still early season here with fewer visitors and cooler temperatures. I’ll be in the area until Sunday when I return to Fairbanks, then board a flight to Seattle on Monday afternoon. I remember this bittersweet feeling last year when I ended my ride in San Diego. It certainly was a long vacation, an accomplished vacation. I guess I understand why all those southbound riders I met on my ride want to keep pushing forward. Each day is a treasure and you don’t take it for granted. Each night is a new place and a new experience. You can’t say that about home.
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Today's ride: 50 miles (80 km)
Total: 1,789 miles (2,879 km)
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