These
are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip
into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: October 12, 2000
1:32
PM ALASKA TIME ACROSS FROM EILISION AIR FORCE BASE.
I'm
parked along the sketchy Richardson Highway, a few miles out of
Fairbanks, across from an Air Force Base, safely parked along the
side of ditch where I should be, but not in the ditch, where I found
myself earlier today.
I
am across from Eilison Air Force Base, which is clean and orderly,
but ghostly. There isn't anything moving except for an A10 Warthog
taxing slowly along. Now there are two of them.
Now
that I have decided where I'm going, and thinking that I might be
able to get there without crashing, I feel like stopping, watching
the fighter jets and writing a little about this morning, and my
decision that it was time to get out of Alaska, and fast.
This
van is not made for winter driving in Alaska. In fact, it couldn't
be more awkward and warthogish. It is top-heavy, front-wheel drive
and I don't have the proper tires. That wasn't a problem until I
reached Fairbanks, where I was a little surprised to find I'd all
of a sudden become a hazard to navigation, and myself.
While
coming around a highway offramp at around 10 MPH, I all of sudden
lost control of the van, skidded and aimed directly for a lightpole.
I missed it by the Grace of Allah, but went into a ditch at the
side of the road. I thought for a minute the van was going to flip
over, and that got the old heart pumping a little. When I ended
up in a snowy ditch, unscratched, I couldn't believe I'd lost it
completely going maybe 10 MPH. I was driving cautiously, but not
cautiously enough.
It
took me a while to get out. The van would grab only so much in the
lowest gear and in reverse, but I had fun successfully getting myself
out of a bonehead maneuver that could have really been serious.
I wasn't being reckless or stupid, I just got a wake-up call as
to how slippery a road can get, and how cautious someone has to
be, and how ill-suited my vehicle is for Alaska in October.
But
that little plow into the ditch convinced me it was time to get
out of Alaska. It's getting too late in the year and I'm in the
wrong vehicle. Maybe different tires would help, but it's time to
go.
After
sliding into the ditch I slid around Fairbanks for a while, and
considered both of my options: Take the high road to Tok, or the
low road back to Anchorage, then up to Tok. I wondered about the
high road to Tok, worried that I was too far north and that it would
be unsafe for me to drive it, the way the van had no traction. I
knew I could make the road back to Anchorage, but I wondered about
the drive out of Anchorage, through the high mountains to Glenallen
and then to Tok.
I
asked around at a gas station but they weren't much help, so I decided
to drive toward Tok until it wasn't safe.
Turns
out the highway to Tok is better than the city roads in Fairbanks
and I can drive okay, if I go cautiously. You just don't want to
hit the brakes up here. They don't do any good.
A
fighter just took off from the Air Force Base. Not a Warthog. Not
sure what kind of jet it was, but it sure was loud. Maybe an F-15.
That's what the Air Force flies. I'll bet they have the right tires.
I
am 202 miles from Tok, but what I've seen so far appears to be level
and safe. I wouldn't want to get into a skid like that on a big
downhill.
Here
goes a Warthog taking off. Kind of graceful on takeoff, nearly silent.
The engines make a weird, pleasing noise, like an electric engine.
What a cool, very deadly plane.
I
hate to admit it because they're war eagles of death and all that,
but there is something about a military aircraft. I saw it on the
Independence, and I'm seeing it here.
Anyway,
I just went outside to feel that nice, cold Arctic Alaska air. Through
binoculars I could see those Warthogs off in the distance, pairing
up and Warthog-dogging around in pairs, off where the sky is turquoise.
They might be practicing dog-fighting, but I don't think so. The
A10 is a tank buster, a low ground assault plane. That must be why
the engine is so quiet. They have to sneak up on tanks and troops
on the ground, and if they were as loud as that F-15, they'd be
sitting ducks. Or the sitting ducks they were hoping for would scatter.
Eiher way, it's a cool plane.
Two
more just took off. Lucky stiffs.
How
damn much fun would it be to be the pilot of a Warthog, flying around
through the mountains and glaciers of Alaska, on a day like today?
Oh,
and defending freedom, of course. I wonder if this Air Force Base
is always this active, or if these planes are warming up for another
ruckus in the Middle East. Israel and Palestine are about to go
at it full out, apparently, and with the ship getting blown up in
Aden, we might jump in, too.
The
Threat Board outside of the compound said ThreatCom: Normal. But
I wondered, after that boat-bomb attack on the ship in Aden.
I
actually tried to drive onto the base, and almost pulled it because
the guard waved me through. I saw him looking at my bumper with
concern, though, so I stopped.
I
turned around, had a brief chat with the guard, and now here I am,
parked on the side of the road, watching airplanes take off.
Anyway,
I'm on my way to Tok, and out of Alaska. I'm a little worried about
the roads, because I think I'm going to be higher than Fairbanks.
That's what I don't get. The road coming in here from the Denali
North Star Hotel was much higher elevation than the street roads
in Fairbanks, but I was driving at nearly normal speed and hardly
slid at all.
I
didn't have any problems up at altitude, even when I parked on a
sharp ascent to pick up my boot.
Yes,
I found my boot. Happy happy, joy joy. After a short, sleepless
night, I left the Denali North Star around 8:00 AM and retraced
my tracks, scanning the side of the road for my beloved boot.
(By
the way. I had left a plastic water bottle in the van the night
before. It was frozen solid in the morning)
Kind
of frustrating, scanning the side of the road for the boot, because
every hundred yards or so there was a chunk of ice that had fallen
from a car. They were all black or brown and about the size of a
boot. I saw dozens of them. None were my boot.
Along
the way I saw an Eskimo-looking guy huffing along the side of the
road, in the middle of nowhere. I stopped and gave him a ride. His
name was Chester and he was Eskimo, in that shy, uncommunicative
kind of way. We talked about this and that. I told him about my
boot and he told me about weather that gets to 65 below zero, and
how to deal with it: "You don't breathe too hard, because you could
burn your lungs."
I
dropped him off in Nenana. He wished me luck with the boot.
I
stopped at both of the places I remembered stopping the night before,
but no boot. I poked around in the bushes a little bit, thinking
a bear might have dragged it a little ways before gagging, but no
boot.
While
driving up a fairly steep ascent, I remembered that I had also stopped
along a steep ascent the night before. I saw a brown clump on the
side of the road, but this brown clump was my boot.
Das
Boot. Boot Hill. You get the picture.
Happy
happy, joy joy. Might not sound like a big deal to you, but it was
to me. I had my boots back. I think the boot froze during the night,
because I tore out one of the eyelets when I tried to lace it. But
it's still working.
So,
I found something, and nearly lost something. And I've made a decision.
Time to get out of Alaska. I'm supposed to be back n Sequim on October
16, but I don't know if I'm going to make it.
Just
wanted to write this to clear my head and the nervousness. I almost
screwed the pooch an hour ago, took out a lightpole and wrecked
my van But I didn't. I have my other boot, and I'm getting out of
Alaska. Tok by tonight, most likely, and then beyond. Maybe I'll
catch the ferry at Haines, maybe I'll drive all the way out, back
down the Cassiar and get the ferry at Prince Rupert. Or maybe I'll
go way over and come back by way of Montana or something.
Not
sure what I'm doing. I go where the four winds take me.
20:43
ALASKA TIME ROOM 40 OF YOUNG'S MOTEL, TOK, ALASKA
Tok.
Shit, I'm back in Tok.
Naw,
I'm glad to be here, in one piece and all. It's nice to know where
I am going now, and things are looking familiar.
I
am in Room 40. Just had a croissant BLT and now I'm eating some
Atomic Fireballs. I'm watching CNN with Christian Amanpour and Ehud
Barak talking about Israel/Palestine. Looks like the Shiite is about
to hit the fan.
I
can't decide who is more irritating: Israeli's or Muslims.
No,
it's Muslims.
Anyway,
I'm watching CNN and playing gin online with Bonnie, a Palestinian-born
girl who lives in Arizona. She's Palestinian but Christian, so she's
likeable.
The
Air Van.
I
got here in the evening after many uneventful driving hours from
that Air Force Base near Fairbanks. Along the way I saw a strange
airplane being loaded up off the highway. I took a photo, but the
pilot thought I was a government revenuer or something. I explained
what I was doing, and he explained that his plane was called an
Air Van. He uses it to fly cargo, and was taking some kind of chemical-Ferric
Chloride?-To a gold mine 37 air miles away.
The
Cargo Area of the air van.
It
was blowing hard and cold on the airfield, but the plane got away
okay.
A
little farther on, I was buying some reindeer sausage at a smokehouse
when I saw a guy wearing Army fatigues. He had a badge with wings
on it that said he was a Captain.
I
asked if he flew A10's.
He
said, "No. I'm a flight surgeon."
I
said, "Those Warthog guys look like they're having fun."
He
said, "Oh they are, believe me. Lucky bastards."
He
was envious, like me. He wanted to be up there, too, and he was
a Captain. That left an impression.
Chewing
on reindeer sausage, I drove on and on and on, through empty countryside.
Lots of snow and trees and ice and not many cars or people. Having
seen Juneau and Anchorage and Kenai and Fairbanks, I realized you
could take almost all of civilized Alaska and fit all of it easily
into the Santa Clara Valley, with room to spare.
There
just isn't a whole lot up here besides trees and mountains and snow
and rivers and fish and wildlife. Most of Alaska is empty and wide
open and that makes my heart swell with hope. I'm coming up here
next summer with a Humvee or a Ford F350. Off-road is where the
action and adventure is.
This
was just a probe.
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