Did I have any fun?

My good friends Polly and Mike Stout asked upon my return to Columbia, “Did you have any fun on your trip?”

Bill Clinton was widely abused for asking for a more precise definition of a word in a deposition he gave in the Paula Jones debacle, so I am somewhat reluctant to say that my answer depends on how you define fun.

In April 1988 I was getting ready to argue on behalf of the Catawba Indian Tribe in a land claim case before all of the judges of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit. I was walking around the big courtroom in Richmond, admiring the setting and anticipating the give and take of argument. I told my co-counsel Don Miller of the Native American Rights Fund that I thought I was going to have fun. Miller said, “If you think this is going to be fun, you’re nuts.”

So, recognizing that my definition of fun might differ from others, I can answer that yes, I did have fun.

Most of the fun in travel for me comes from the people I meet or the people I see doing things that make you take notice.

Riding a motorcycle from Key West to Prudhoe Bay takes endurance. But, the endurance requirement on a motorcycle pales in comparison to the endurance required to ride a bicycle any where. Riding a bicycle on the Alaska Highway or the Dalton Highway takes physical and emotional strength that is not commonly found.

I am in awe of people who get on a bicycle and set off to ride great distances. Lance Armstrong and the other Tour de France racers are amazing athletes, but while they race in what is probably the most taxing athletic event in the world, they do so with a vast support network. A safety net, if you prefer.

Bicycle riders on the Alaska or Dalton Highways, even if riding with a companion, are for the most part on their own.

I’ve previously mentioned Denny, the bicyclist from Switzerland, who I met at the Hot Spot just north of the Yukon River crossing. Denny was riding solo from Prudhoe Bay to Terra Del Fuego in South America. By coincidence I also met the van driver who ferried Denny from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay to start the journey. The driver had also dropped off a fellow in Prudhoe Bay who was walking to Mexico. I saw the walker on the road and in the bar at Cold Foot.

Denny, like several riders I saw, was pulling a trailer with his camping gear. Trailers were common with bicyclists, but not a universal convenience.

The strangest bicycles were the recumbent bikes where the rider is seated in a chair with the pedals in front of the rider rather than below as on an upright bike. My friend Emerson Smith in Columbia rides one of those strange creations because it is easier on his back. Having no experience on one of those things, I have doubts about how it would handle on a rough Alaskan or Canadian road.

As I was leaving Buckshot Betty’s in the Yukon Territory on my way north I met a bike rider I had passed several miles down the road. He was an old guy, about my age, and he was riding alone carrying all his gear on the bike rather than on a trailer.

Of course we had to chat. I wanted to know what it was like to ride a bike, and he wanted to know if there was anything good to eat at Betty’s place.

Turns out the rider had a Columbia connection. Jerry Cash Martin is from Mt. Airy, N.C. and a semi-retired state judge. I say semi-retired because Jerry’s card identifies him as an “Emergency Superior Court Judge.” Jerry told me that he presides over the trials of capital cases. No wonder he is riding a bike by himself to Alaska.

Jerry mentioned that he had a daughter who lived in Columbia. Caroline Bokesh is a law clerk for South Carolina Supreme Court Justice James Moore of Greenwood. Jerry called Caroline to tell her that he had met a lawyer from Columbia riding a motorcycle to Alaska. Caroline told her boss. Justice Moore had lunch with one of my partners, Cravens Ravenel, and recounted the encounter. Cravens was able to share the story on our firm’s e-mail in Paul Harvey fashion by saying that a retired judge from North Carolina who was bicycling to Alaska had met a Columbia lawyer heading north on a motorcycle outside a roadhouse in the Yukon Territory. Cravens said, “You know the rest of the story.”

The day I started up the Dalton Highway I spent a good part of the day waiting for a chance to get a new front tire at Trails End BMW in Fairbanks. The shop is a one man band owned by George Rahn. “George W” I am told, but didn’t confirm for fear of prejudicing my feelings about the man.

George, regarded by many as a true Alaska character, has been in Fairbanks since the 50’s, and his shop, an old-time motorcycle shop surrounded by old tires breeding mosquitoes, junked cars and old bikes, reminds me of what motorcycle shops used to look like. Places where you could catch up with other riders or tell tall tales with the owners and mechanics.

In my youth I never once saw a sign in a motorcycle shop that said insurance regulations prohibited persons other than employees in the shop. George didn’t have a sign either and performs his work asking customers to hold a wrench or assist in some other way. George also explains what he is doing in case you are forced to perform the same task unassisted.

George told me on the phone that he could take care of me in the afternoon. When I showed up at 11:30 a.m., I had to explain that I was early because I was an optimist. George got to me after lunch, but it was worth the wait.

Because I was early at George’s place I met the first woman to complete the Iron Butt Ultimate Cross Country ride. Ralph Joiner of the Atlanta area was getting new tires and getting his BMW serviced by George when I arrived. Chatting I learned that Ralph and his wife Judy had just the day before completed the ride I was on. Judy had become the first woman to complete the ride, and she did it on a Honda cruiser that in my view required a higher level of riding skill than the bike I was on. I got to meet Judy when Ralph and I caught up with her at their hostel and headed off for lunch together. Judy and Ralph have a website on their trip at www.2n2ak.com.

After lunch with Judy and Ralph I stopped for gas in hopes that at some time that day I would get a new front tire and be able to head to Cold Foot. At the gas station I met a very large young man on a bike about half the size of my bike. Larch was a Californian who had come to Alaska looking for work, but was discouraged about his prospects and contemplating riding his 650 c.c. Kawasaki back home.

Larch told me his friends all teased him about being such a big guy on such a relatively small bike. His description was circus bear on mini-bike. Quite accurate from what I saw.

If I ever do another trip accompanied by a blog I promise to do a better job of keeping track of the names of the folks I meet.

You can rest assured that had I been much younger and single I would not have left Dawson Creek without the name of the city gardener who took my photo at the start of the Alaska Highway.

I also wish I had written down the names of the two BMW riders I met in the campground at Dawson Creek, one of whom identified his partner as one of the founding members of the Iron Butt Association. I do have one name from Dawson Creek. Vern Brisbin of Software Emporium was helpful in getting me on-line so I could send reports of my progress to fill in the gaps since Saskatoon.

The wait staff at the “Farthest North Truck Stop” at Cold Foot were friendly, helpful and witty. If I were as good a journalist as Boswell had been for Dr. Johnson on their tour of the Scottish Highlands, I could have mentioned their names here.

In Dead Horse I had witness forms signed by Thomas Sumey and Rick Poquette of Kenai, Ak. who worked at the hotel and Ronald and Mary Jean Burgin who were in Dead Horse in their motor home, having traveled from their home in Marmera, N.J.

The desk clerk at the Best Western in Fairbanks had worked at a motel in Columbia before moving to Alaska to be near her sister. Thanks to her I was able to store all of the gear I didn’t plan to use on my way to Prudhoe so I could lighten the load on the bike in hopes of keeping it upright.

Down in Haines at the campground where I spent the night before catching the ferry south I met Jerry and Lori Priebe of Big Prairie, Ohio. Jerry and Lori have a business called Kuntry Kritters, and they participate in pioneer wagon train gatherings. They were in their van in Alaska.

Waiting in line for the ferry at Haines I met Harley rider and railroad union officer John Hahn of Illinois. John has sent a few comments to the blog site defending my reputation as a long distance rider to my skeptical son Todd.

John had ridden to Alaska to attend a union conference as was on his way back when we met. We shared a few drinks in the bar and saw each other a couple of times on the boat. John is the kind of guy you’d take a detour on a trip to catch up with.

Anne had told me that passengers on Alaska ferries often pitched tents on the deck rather than paying the extra cost for a stateroom. Anne wisely suggested that after the exertion of my trip I might be better off in a stateroom. She didn’t tell me I was too old to sleep in a tent on the deck, a courtesy I appreciate. John got to do that, and explained that everything went well until the wind picked up to the point he was anchoring the tent with deck chairs to keep it from blowing away when he wasn’t in it.

John and some of his friends made the Iron Butt 1000 miles in 24 hours ride between Chicago and New Orleans. The choice of route has a great railroad heritage, being the route of “The City of New Orleans” train memorialized in the Arlo Guthrie song of the same name. There must be something about an Iron Butt ride because as John explained, “It rained so hard we almost drowned.” I know the feeling.

I met many interesting people on the trip, but, no surprise here, my favorite people on the trip were my family members who I hit up for free room and board and chocolate chip cookies: Allen Cushman, brother-in-law (West Palm Beach, Fl.), Liz, John Mark and Jack Wiggers ,stepdaughter, son-in-law and grandson (Atlanta), Mary and Ken Owns, sister and brother-in-law and two of their children, Michelle and Chris and grandson Kyle (Seattle) and Jack and Sally Bender, brother and sister-in-law (Albuquerque). I would have been able to add my twin, Ray, to the list (Austin, Tx.), but because I wasn’t as fast as I thought I would be, he had to go to Canada on business on the day I would have been in Austin. He didn’t have any trouble getting into Canada. My wife, Anne, joined the trip twice, first in Atlanta on day 2 with a new driver’s license, cash and credit card and then in Haines for the ferry ride.

Even without the people I met, I would still have been able to say I had fun. Riding from Haines Junction was fun. Highway 50 was fun. The ride to Four Corners was fun. The ferry ride was fun.

Having my wallet stolen wasn’t fun. The rain wasn’t fun.

The Dalton Highway falls into the fun category because I didn’t get hit by lightening or a truck, didn’t fall down, and didn’t get eaten by a bear. Obviously I have a very low fun threshold.