Mrs Pavey does Alaska, Canada and America - 28 August 2007
If you have taken part on an Off Road Skills activity you have probably met Simon Pavey's wife Linley. After many years of living in the shadow of Simon's adventures, Linley has stepped into the limelight and begun a challenge of her own. Linley has joined the first five-week section of 2007 Globebusters trip through Alaska, Canada and America on a HP2.
Here is the story so far, written by support van driver, Rod Chapman:
The 2007 Globebusters Trans-Am has only just begun, yet in many ways it seems like we’ve been on the road for weeks. Tackling challenges as a group can do that, and whether it’s been slithering north through the mud and gravel of the Dalton Highway, or diving starkers into the Arctic Ocean, our merry band of modern-day adventurers have already enjoyed plenty of team bonding.
But before I go on, I should first give you a brief rundown on just who makes up that merry band. There’s Dave Streeter, aka ‘The Professor’ (the mad hair may have been recently shorn, but the persona persists!), not to be confused with Dave Ward, aka ‘The Astronaut’ (a self-confessed gadget freak, with a fully accessorised R1200 GS Adventure to prove it).
Then there’s the father and son team of John and Greg Bennett; runaway love birds Steve Goudy and Lisa Fairhurst (due to tie the knot down the road in Tucson, Arizona); Aussies Ron Markiewicz and Linley Pavey – the former joining us from his current home of Jo’burg, South Africa, the latter from Wales (yep – Linley's the ‘significant other’ of BMW GB’s Off-Road Skills School director and multi-time Dakar competitor Simon Pavey).
And there’s Matt Bailey, Richard Morgan, Dick Counsell, Jason Godfrey, Mike Cannard, Evan Davies and Mark Hamilton (the latter still buzzing from last year’s Globebusters High Andes tour, and now ready for ‘The Big One’!). There’s more to come too, with others due to join the Trans-Am in Tucson (USA), San Jose (Costa Rica) and Santiago (Chile). Oh, and of course there’s the Globebusters crew itself – Kevin Sanders leading the group; wife Julia keeping a watchful eye on the Globebusters nerve centre back in Wales; bike-mounted Kiwi Jeff Condon assisting Kev, and lastly (in this instance in every sense of the word) there's me, Rod Chapman, support van driver and Trans-Am tail-end Charlie.
The Alaskan capital of Anchorage was our starting point, with the days leading up to our departure taken up with seeing the sights, collecting conspicuously gleaming bikes from the airport’s cargo terminal, and making last minutes purchases before heading ‘outside’ (as the locals would term leaving the city and going bush). But our final Anchorage afternoon was spent preparing the most important asset we’d be taking with us – our minds.
Globebusters friend Dave Baines is a Native American, a doctor in the far-flung Aleutian island of Unalaska, and a keen biker. The day before we set off Dave flew back from Unalaska’s main centre of Dutch Harbour and picked up his brand new BMW R1200 GS Adventure from Anchorage’s BMW dealer. He would be joining the Globebusters for the run north to Deadhorse – the most northerly point accessible by road in North America – and settling some unfinished business in the process.
On the 2005 Globebusters Trans-Am Dave also travelled up to Deadhorse, and was barely an hour short of the reaching the tar on his way back down the treacherous Dalton Highway when he hit some deep gravel and crashed heavily, breaking his femur (thigh bone). This time he was determined to conquer the Dalton, and get back to Anchorage under his own steam – instead of by emergency Blackhawk helicopter.
Dave has also been bestowed the privilege by his people of being able to hold a sweat lodge – an ancient Native American ceremony to cleanse us of bad spirits, give thanks for all we have to be thankful for and allow us to speak freely from our heart. A type of sauna created by moving glowing red-hot rocks from a fire into a pit covered by a sort of tee-pee, the ceremony is conducted in complete darkness, with added water allowing each of us to sweat like we’d never sweated before. A unique and very special affair few foreigners ever get to experience, the sweat lodge affected each of us in different ways on different levels, but everyone agreed – with thousands of miles ahead of us, in all conditions and a wide variety of climates, we were going to need all the help we could get…
The next morning it was all systems go: an 8am kick-off from Anchorage, and up the highway to the only other really major city in Alaska – Fairbanks. It was a reasonably big day – about 360 miles all up – and our route swept us past Denali National Park, and its jewel attraction of Mt McKinley, the highest peak in North America.
A couple of beers, a feed and a decent sleep later, we pushed on, and 80 miles further north the real fun and games began in earnest, when the tar made way for gravel for the remaining 160-mile leg to Coldfoot.
This is incredible country up here, with a vast sky, fir trees as far as the eye can see, glittering lakes and rushing rivers, including the mighty Yukon. Wildlife was proving elusive, not that that’s necessarily a bad thing – bikes and wildlife don’t always mix too well, especially when the wildlife in question takes the form of an angry grizzly, a gigantic moose or anything else with the weight and size to laugh in the face of a bike and its rider…
Then there’s the road itself – the Dalton Highway has seen many a bike go down, and unfortunately this day Dick felt its bite. A tumble at the end of the day just after we crossed the Arctic Circle saw Dick bruised, sore and in the van for the final stretch to the truckstop of Coldfoot, ditto his GS. He was okay but too sore to ride, so while we pressed on to Deadhorse the next day, Jeff remained in Coldfoot to repair Dick’s bike, while Dick himself flew back to Fairbanks to get fully checked out and ponder his next move. Dr Dave also stayed in Coldfoot to help out Jeff, and would tackle the road north a day later.
The final push to Deadhorse was the tough one – largely unsealed, the temperature dropped and the rain blew in, turning the dirt into a slick, slippery morass demanding the utmost concentration. Oncoming big rigs are also an ever-present danger here, enveloping you in billowing clouds of dust when it’s dry, and showering you with mud and gravel when it’s not. As the group fishtailed its way onwards, up over the 4700ft Atigun Pass and through the spectacular Brooks Mountains, the foliage dropped away, leaving a broad, seemingly never-ending expanse of Arctic tundra.
The only feature to break up the landscape here is the Alaskan Pipeline, an 800-mile-long engineering feat which carries oil from Alaska’s North Slope oil and gas fields to the southern port of Valdez. Our only companion on our journey north, it snakes its way alongside the Dalton Highway, occasionally disappearing underground only to pop up again further up the track.
For the uninitiated, the remote outpost of Deadhorse at first seems like nothing more than one big work site – drilling rigs, pre-fab buildings and an endless array of heavy machinery. It owes its existence to one thing and one thing only – its ability to tap into the rich reserves of oil and gas that lie beneath the North Slope. But when it signifies the end of the road – a 414-mile road of mud, gravel and potholes large enough to have their own post code (or should that be zipcode?), it’s the best sight in the world.
After celebratory black slaps all round (alcohol is banned in Deadhorse – the authorities thought a couple of thousand men, virtually no women and little entertainment wouldn’t mix well with a boozer!), we turned in. It might have still been bright daylight outside – in fact it’s daylight around the clock this far north at this time of year – but after a long day in the saddle (or in my case, the Globebusters Ford Transit), dropping off to sleep was no problem.
The next day was our first day off the bike – a chance to rest, recharge the batteries and go skinny dipping in the Arctic Ocean. Yes, I’m serious. Only oil personnel have access to the Arctic Coast, located just a 15-minute drive north at Prudhoe Bay, but if you pay your US$36 fee you can hop on an official tour, which takes in a short informational video, followed by the trip to the ocean itself. Those who feel the irresistible pull to jump into the ocean’s icy waters earn themselves a certificate to bear testament to their stupidity. For those who do it naked, well – they haven’t yet come up for a special certificate for that… The vast majority of the Globebusters shed clothes, pride and dignity to take the Full Monty plunge, while the more sensible among us stood by to capture the moment for posterity. Keep an eye out for the Globebusters XXX-rated sealed section, coming soon…
Tomorrow it’s back down to Coldfoot, and judging by what Dr Dave said of the road on his way up – a road battered by driving rains – it sounds like the way down will be interesting, to say the least. But the bikes are fuelled and ready, and we’re eager to take the challenge. Hell, when you’ve bared all and jumped into the Arctic Ocean, you can accomplish anything!
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