Day 11: Wiseman to Fairbanks (305 miles)
The morning was bittersweet. We were excited to be getting back into the Macan to drive on to our next destination. However, having made our way safely all the way up to what was ultimately our final destination, and having enjoyed a big, gulping taste of unadulterated Alaska, the tundra, the midnight sun, our friends in Wiseman and their charming property, the time had come for us to say goodbye. Day 11 was essentially the part in our story where Girls Go North turned around and headed southbound towards home.
Before hitting the road once again, we went to Igloo #8 that housed the dining room and had eggs from Uta & Bernie’s chickens for breakfast. There was another family in there, as well, half of them resided in Anchorage, and the other half was from Montana. They inquired about our trip. I explained that the day before we drove the Dalton up to Toolik Lake and turned around. Uta chimed in and asked what we thought of the road. I told her it was not nearly as bad as I anticipated. She said the conditions vary, depending on the amount of traffic it gets and the weather. She pointed out that 2 different parties driving the same portion of road on the same day often have very different opinions of it. Before leaving San Diego, I did my research. My friend Dieter from Porsche Experience Center in LA was kind enough to give me driving lessons on how to handle the Macan in off-road conditions. I have 2 full sized spare Michelin tires mounted on Porsche rims in my trunk, and before leaving San Diego, Hoehn Porsche gave both Vanessa and I lessons on how to change a tire. They even explained how to deal with doing so in gravel, or loose dirt. I told Uta that I had probably over prepared, but we all agreed that being over prepared is much better than being under prepared. Just another lesson in life, I suppose, that you could apply to anything, not just the haul road.
The husband/father of the Montana portion of the group said they were headed up there that morning and that they were going all the way to Deadhorse (that’s where the Dalton ends at Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean). He seemed disappointed that we didn’t make it all the way up. Honestly, I kind of was, too. It was “only” 2 hours further than Toolik, but the road got pretty bad about 10 miles south of where we turned around. Also, the range on my car was about 300 miles. Knowing that, after one makes it up so far, one must commit to either hoofing it all the way to Deadhorse or carefully calculate at the point one makes the U-turn that there will be enough gas in the tank to make it back south to the fuel station in Coldfoot. As impressed as I was with how phenomenally well the Macan handled that road and with how perfectly those Michelin tires performed on the wet slippery parts and the dry gravely bits, I decided it was a responsible decision to turn around where we did. To even see the ocean up there, one had to pre-book a tour of the oil rigs and neither Vanessa nor I found that to be very interesting. Plus, we had already driven so much, we did not feel too remorseful about our decision.
Following breakfast, Vanessa and I commenced the arduous task of reloading the car. I had taken cooking equipment out so we could make dinner in our little cabin’s kitchen. The cooking equipment section in the car is located where the spare tire would normally go. In order to access it, one has to basically take 75% of the gear out of the car (along with one of those heavy-duty Michelin tires mounted on the rim). Essentially, we were unloading to reload.
Once we got organized, I made sure to give Uta one of our Girls Go North t-shirts to remember us by, and we bought a couple of her t-shirts, as well. Since we never got around to cooking the yak and bison steaks, I left those with her, too.
Back on the road, we stopped at nearby Coldfoot for fuel and a couple of last minute souvenirs. Making our way back south felt easier for some reason than going north. Maybe because we knew what to expect and maybe because the road north of the Atigun Pass made the southern leg of the road seem like child’s play. We also learned that the unpaved parts were often easier than dirt sections because there were no frost heaves, where the road would just ripple like a ribbon. Sometimes we could not tell until we were on top of the heave – one that we hit sent us in the air, Dukes of Hazard style!
But heading back down the Dalton, I was overwhelmed with pride. I was proud that we could take on the highway with confidence, without hitting anything (meaning moose, caribou or deer) and without getting a flat tire or cracking the windshield. I was delighted that Vanessa took on this adventure with such enthusiasm. I was thrilled that the Macan was the only Porsche we had seen in days and I was so excited to be able to experience this adventure with a car that was born to undertake the challenges the haul road threw at us. Between the car itself and the Michelin tires we put on, the car hugged even the sketchiest patches with no trouble; I never once felt like we were sliding around. There were times I actually got teary eyed because I was so overcome with joy that we did it; mission accomplished.
Still on the Dalton, as we neared the Yukon River we both had to use the restroom badly. We pulled over at The Yukon River Camp, which provides rooms, gas, gifts and food. I got us a table in their very basic, no frills at all whatsoever restaurant, and Vanessa made her way to the “pit toilet”. There were two to choose from, on either side of the road (the other side of the road is where we got our certificate for crossing the Arctic Circle). She took a while to come back, so I started up a conversation with the burly guys at the table next to ours. Apparently, they were construction workers, hired to make improvements on the building we were currently dining in. The first guy that sat down noticed my ring (it was my grandmother’s promise ring that my grandfather gave her when they were 16). He said, “Wow! That’s beautiful. Is that an opal? It’s so pretty!” No, it’s an aquamarine (my birthstone). It is a pretty little ring; she gave it to me when I turned 13, not too long before she passed away, and it is the most precious thing I own.
His coworkers started rolling in one by one and I chatted with them as they ate their lunch. Eventually, Vanessa returned, traumatized by her “pit-toilet” experience! I gave her my order (it was some kind of seafood soup with coconut milk) and then I raced off to the restroom. Vanessa’s response had me geared up for a horror show, but I’ve seen and used worse bathrooms. When you have to go, you have to go! I returned to the restaurant, and to my conversation with our new, colorful friends. We talked a bunch about California compared to Alaska. Traffic versus no traffic, how the speed limit is more of a suggestion in Alaska than a rule (there are no police officers on those more remote roads). A friend of mine makes fun of me for talking to everyone. I will talk to anyone, especially under the circumstance that we are in. Everyone has a story, and stories are fun to share!
Back on the road after an entertaining lunch, our Dalton Highway experience ended soon after. The pretty, smooth, black, lovely tarmac resumed (minus, for the most part, frost heaves) and we zipped along down the road heading towards Fairbanks. Suddenly, a miracle occurred: we had phone service! Well, Vanessa did, anyway. I have Sprint and have not had service since Salt Lake City. They are horrible!
Anyway, we got checked into our hotel and finally got to do laundry! After a nice, little, slightly better than average dinner, we folded clothes and then decided it was time for bed. That was right around midnight and it was still sunny.
