Boogity, boogity, boogity...

I don’t know what it is with us Brits - maybe there is some sort of chemical imbalance - but we do seem to have a strange desire to hire a camper van when we travelling around Australia.  I don’t like to play up to a stereotype but, here I was, Pacific Highway… in a camper van.  I wasn’t trying to be ironic or predictable - it just didn’t make sense not to.  It all started when I decided to head up to the Gold Coast for the Indy 300 race weekend at Surfers Paradise and, having booked my race tickets, I was shocked to discover the average room rate in town was running at around 500 bucks a night whilst the race was in town.  Being the tight arse that I am, I wasn’t prepared to pay that and frantically scoured the internet for alternatives.  I soon discovered that I could get a camper van for three entire weeks for less than the cost of two nights in a hotel in Surfers.  It was a no-brainer.

I was keen to end my first day on the road nice and early so that I could get used to the evening set-up routine whilst it was still light.  After brief photo stops at the Observatory, on the Northern Shore and at St Kilda’s Luna Park, I found myself heading towards Wyrrabalong National Park out on the coast.  It wasn’t that there was anything in particular there that I wanted to visit - in fact I don’t think that there actually was anything to visit - it was simply the right distance out of town and, well, I had to stop somewhere.  I decided to forego the tempting prospect of a visit to the Australian Reptile Park and instead headed straight to Dunleith Tourist Park in the wonderfully named town of The Entrance.  I was sure glad not to be sleeping in my tent that night as the most spectacular electrical storm blew up  and I have no doubt that both me and the tent would have floated off into the sea in the rain which followed.

It had been suggested that an inland route along the New England Highway was the best route to take up to Surfers Paradise - it was said to be far more scenic than the Pacific Highway - and the following morning saw me heading out through Singleton and Muswellbrook to Tamworth where I had planned on spending the night.  For some reason, having arrived in the self-proclaimed Nashville of Australia, I felt compelled to press on a little further and ended up in the small country town of Armidale.  It was a pleasant evening - I cooked a nice meal and had good neighbours in the form of Brad and Pammy from Coffs Harbour who suggested a couple of places to check out as I made my way north - and I went to bed happy.

All that changed the next day when, just a couple of kilometres out of the campground, the camper ground to a sudden and abrupt halt and refused to restart.  After trying everything that I could think of - including swearing at it - I decided that I really had to phone for some assistance and called Dirk at Keen As Campers.  He apologised profusely and called out the NRMA (the Australian version of the RAC) who arrived quickly and broke the news that the problem wasn’t fixable by the roadside.  Soon a wrecker arrived and towed me off to a nearby workshop which was staffed by the most disinterested bunch of monkeys that I ever had the displeasure to deal with.

It took the entire day for them to diagnose the problem but the news wasn’t too bad: it was a simple matter of replacing the ignition coil.  The problem was, due to the remote location, a replacement would take another 48 hours to arrive.  Now Armidale wasn’t a bad town - I had walked right around it, twice - but I really didn’t want to be stuck there any longer than I absolutely had to be.  Especially as it was bitterly cold and, unseasonably, snowing (the TV news reported that it was the coldest October day for 45 years) but I didn’t seem to be in much of a position to argue.  It wasn’t all bad news though: Dirk had bought the ‘Gold’ option when joining the NRMA and I found myself with a rental car and put up in a nice local hotel for a couple of nights.  I’d much rather have been on my way to Surfers Paradise but as I sat in my nice warm room, with the miserable weather outside, I did wonder if being confined to barracks wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Determined to make the most of my ‘lost’ day I headed off to check out a few local national parks the following morning.  When I say a few what I really mean to say is, well, five!  Oxley Wild Rivers NP, New England NP, Cathedral Rock NP, Guy Fawkes River NP and Cunnawarra NP were very scenic but, in reality, they would be called State Parks in any other country (later that evening I discovered that New South Wales has over 200 National Parks within its borders!) so they were pretty limited in options and were quickly ticked off the list.  I headed back to the workshop just before it closed and was delighted to discover that a new coil had been sourced from elsewhere and we were back in business.  I dropped the rental car back, collected the camper and headed for my second night in the hotel.  I could have headed off a couple of hours down the road and in any other country I would have done just that but this isn’t any other country.  In Australia it is not advisable to drive at night as the local wildlife has a penchant for wandering (well, hopping) into your path as drive along minding your own business.  And that is really going to ruin your day - just as much as theirs - when they are quite as bulky and unpredictable as they are.

The drive to Surfers Paradise was around 500 km and would take much of the day so I checked out and headed off early on Friday morning.  My route took me back along the Waterfall Way (the route that I’d travelled the previous day) before turning on to the 106km back route from Ebor to Grafton.  I hadn’t realised just what a tricky proposition this section would present - particularly the section through Nimboi-Binderay National Park - and would have given anything to be in a well prepared Lotus rather than the lumbering beast that I was driving!  But I made it to the end and turned on to the Pacific Highway to complete my journey north.

Shortly after passing Byron Bay the exhaust note started to deepen and sound a little more ‘manly’.  But there was no stopping me now - I had to get up to Surfers Paradise before the end of day (I had missed two days of the meeting already) - and I’d worry about this new problem in a couple of hours once I’d arrived.  Life is never that simple, of course, and it would take me more than a couple of hours to get there as going up a hill, with huge road trains bearing down on me, the van started to misfire and the engine died.  I managed to re-fire it for long enough to drag it to the top of the hill from where I was able to coast down the other side and roll into a rest area before it died again.  My attempts to re-fire the van were starting to draw a crowd and, realising I wasn’t going anywhere quickly; I hit the steering wheel with my head.  It didn’t help.  One of the spectators wandered up - smoking something which in most countries will get you arrested - and lent me his mobile phone to call Dirk again.  He suggested a couple of things to try but we had no choice but to resort to calling the NRMA. 

The guy arrived quickly enough but his attitude wasn’t helpful in the least: when the van re-fired on the first turn of the key he shrugged his shoulders before announcing, “seeing there’s nothing for me to fix I might as well get going.”  Gee, fella, thanks.   I pressed him for suggestions and he eventually settled on the idea that the hot gasses from the leaking manifold were causing the fuel in the system to evaporate and the engine to cut out.  It seemed plausible - especially as I was now underway again - and I headed off with the passenger seat (which doubles as the engine cover) cranked open to aid airflow to the engine.  The noise and the heat were pretty much unbearable but I eventually made it to my destination.  The looks from pedestrians were mildly amusing but the looks from the police as I drove through the centre of Surfers Paradise were less so.  I think I was quite lucky to get away with that one! 

I finally pulled into my home for the next four nights - Broadwater Tourist Park - around four hours later than planned.  To celebrate, I headed to the liquor store across the street to pick up a bottle of Jack.  In deference to the sponsors of the DJR team, I decided to change the habit of a lifetime and picked up a bottle of Jim Beam instead.   After such an epic effort to get there, it went down an absolute treat!

Raceday came and I was somehow less than excited about the prospect.  I’d spent the previous day up at the circuit and I was soon to learn that it was no Bathurst when it came to viewing possibilities.  I was relieved that I‘d booked a grandstand seat - something that I very rarely do as I like to roam around the circuit - otherwise I wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting so much as a sniff of the cars much less actually being able to see them.  Of course, if I hadn’t been able to see them, I wouldn’t have been so disappointed in the procession that played out in front of my eyes.  Still, after such a run of great racing experiences, I shouldn’t be complaining. And, despite the lack of action on-track, we did get the odd bit of entertainment such as Fabien Coulthard running off the road in front of us and causing a log jam of cars whilst the officials did a laughable job of sorting the problem out. 

The best bit of the day?  It was tough to decide between the unbelievable pre-race air display, the crazy Red Bull motorbike stunt team and the lump-in-the-throat when they sang the national anthems.  But the winner was… the return to what I would know as Australian weather - and it was about time after the cold, rain and snow of recent days!

The weather just got better and better for the next couple of days which is more than can be said for my mood.   Dirk had booked the van in to a local garage for 8am on Monday morning to have the manifold fixed but I didn’t get it back until 4pm that afternoon.  I’d decided that morning, as I drove across town to drop the camper off, that I would take the bike that I had rented and explore town but, having done a couple of laps of the Indy circuit - now re-opened to traffic - the wheels came off that idea.  Actually, it wasn’t the wheels; it was the pedals.  Yes, believe it or not, the bloody pedals fell off the bike and I was forced to walk back to the garage and wait it out.   Eventually I managed to persuade the Neanderthal that was charged with fixing it to, erm, fix it and I headed back across town to the campground in blissful silence and sat on the beach to soak up the sun for the last few hours of the day.

When I woke on Tuesday morning I was in a far better frame of mind and hurriedly packed up the van and headed north towards my next destination: Australia Zoo.  This was one of the first places on my ‘must visit’ list when I decided to come to Australia so I was happy to put the mechanical disasters behind me and be finally heading in that direction.  Besides, overnight I had received an email from Dirk apologising again for all the problems and offering a $500 discount on the rental.  I was very happy with that - he didn’t have to offer anything at all - but he was really looking after me as he had all along.  I admire that.  As I said in my reply to him, “the true mark of a company is not that these problems never happen, it is how they are dealt with”, and he dealt with them admirably every time.  

20km down the road the unbelievable happened: I broke down again!  Dirk called out the RACQ and, sensing my frustration, he also sent a mobile mechanic to make sure the problem was fixed once and for all.  The guy from the RACQ determined that the problem lay with an intermittent spark and, as the guy0 from the NRMA had before, announced that there was nothing that could be done at the roadside and that I would have to be towed in to the workshop again.  I could have cried.  With that - like a knight in shining armour - the mobile mechanic arrived and quickly spotted the problem.  Unbelievably it went back to the cretins who fitted the replacement parts back in Armidale who, despite having the thing for two days, neglected to tighten two electrical terminals properly.  My heartfelt thanks must go to Graham Betts Holden of Armidale for making such a tits arse of what should have been a simple job and ruining four days of my holiday.  Regardless, I was now on the road, and I felt mighty relief at that. 

As I hit the road again, with the van now running better than ever, I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of freedom.  I continued north but, as it was now too late in the day to head for Australia Zoo, I stopped at a visitor centre to seek their advice on what I could do for the rest of the day.  A visit to Glasshouse Mountains National Park was suggested and, although never having heard of it, I was suitably intrigued to go and visit.  I was very pleased that I did as the collection of 20 million year old volcanic cones presented a stunning sight emerging as they did, Jurassic Park style, from the flat green surroundings. I was able to get a little bit of proper hiking in and it felt good to take out my pent up aggression on the hill!

 I am sure that we’ve all seen Steve Irwin’s appearances on TV and most of us will have felt that we knew him to some degree - me included - so it was a fantastic feeling to finally drive through the gates of Australia Zoo.  The Irwin family have built up an amazing facility and, even though I don’t normally like zoos (I don’t like to see animals caged up), this one was very well done.  All of the animals were very well cared for and had plenty of room to roam around and live as natural a life as possible.  Some of the enclosures - though not the ones containing the Bengal tigers or crocs, for obvious reasons - were open for the public to wander through at their leisure.  Push through a big metal gate and you suddenly find yourself in kangaroo country.  I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience; even though I kept imagining I might bump into Steve as he went about his business.  I felt sad in the realisation that it was something that was never gonna happen and I only wish that I had been able to visit a couple of years ago.  Wherever you are, Steve, you did those animals proud.

Before I headed off from Australia Zoo I sat in the car park for some time looking at my travel guide and my road atlas.  I really wanted to push on north to visit the Great Barrier Reef but the reality was starting to sink in: with the lost days, it was simply too far.  I couldn’t make my mind up which direction to head and, eventually, settled on closing my eyes and pointing to a random point on the map.  When I opened them again, my finger was sat right in the middle of Hervey Bay - four hours away - so off I went.  Energised by my day with the animals I completed the drive in one sitting and arrived on the Happy Wander Campground just as the office was closing for the evening.  Even though I had delayed his departure for the evening the guy was happy to stop and chat as he checked me in.  When I mentioned that I fancied heading over to Fraser Island, he even offered to call and book me a slot. His enthusiasm was infectious and I knew then that I was gonna enjoy my stay in Hervey Bay.

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation I set off on the long walk from the airport to the Clarion Hotel in downtown Anchorage which acts as the gateway hotel for Trek America’s Alaska tours.  I had signed up for the company’s Alaska & Yukon Explorer trip and was looking forward to being around people again after two months on my own.  But how would I adapt to having people around me again 24/7 and how would I cope if the group turned out to be a group of over-excited teenagers who wanted to party all night and sleep all day?  I decided that it was too late to worry now and devoted my energies to navigating my way through Anchorage’s busy network of roads using the impossibly bad map that I had picked up at the airport. 

When I arrived at the Clarion I was pleasantly surprised to discover that - contrary to what I had read online about Trek America’s gateway hotels - it was actually a pretty damn good hotel.  They let me check in early which gave me the day to go off and explore Anchorage.  After enduring an ugly industrial area as I walked across town from the airport I had hoped that downtown would prove to be a modern metropolis with towering skyscrapers, or maybe a quaint little town like Banff, so you can imagine my disappointment when I realised it comprised one street full of gifts stores and dodgy looking bars and very little else.   Frustrated at this discovery, I made my way back to my hotel to see if my roommate had arrived.  He hadn’t and, convinced that I must have missed something, I decided to head out on foot once again. 

A couple of hours later I returned with sore feet and a realisation that, with the exception of the nearby mall, I had pretty much seen all of Anchorage the first time around.   On my return I did notice that there was now a shiny white van and trailer in the parking lot outside - not something that would usually get me excited but this one had Trek America signage on it - the next instalment of my trip had officially started!

It’s a very rare event when you’re pleased to hear an alarm clock at 6am so it should be noted here that Wednesday 9^th July 2008 was one of those days.  After a quick hello to my roommate (who finally arrived long after I’d gone to bed), a shower and breakfast I made my way to the hotel lobby where I found a group of people who seemed to be similarly dazed and confused as to who was who and what was supposed to happen next.  I introduced myself to anyone who would listen - including, it later transpired, some people waiting for a Holland America bus tour - and soon learned that our group comprised 12 Europeans, one American and a yet to materialise tour leader.  With perfect timing, just as we were starting to look at each other and wonder if they would actually show, in strode Emiko (complete with shades and a huge coffee!) on the stroke of the agreed 730am meeting time.

We were taken to a meeting room at the hotel to complete some paperwork and one-by-one we introduced ourselves formally to the group.  Looking back it seems funny that we should have felt nervous doing this as, by the end of the trip, Bridget, Catherine, Chrisitan, Dirk, Donna, Elke, Jolande, Kristina, Mags, Martin, Tom, Rob and I would all have become good friends.  But I guess it takes time to get to know each other and to gel as a group. 

Paperwork done, it was outside to the van in which we spend untold hours eating, chatting, reading, listening to music, eating, sleeping and then eating some more over the course of the next 21 days.  To the accompaniment of the A Team theme we climbed aboard and headed off.  The trip was on and 4,000 miles of Alaska, the Yukon and the NW Territories lay ahead of us. 

After brief stops at the car rental office and the supermarket it was out onto the open road and, finally, out of Anchorage.  It didn’t take long for the scenery to change for the better and we soon stopped at the spectacular Turnagain Arm overlook where Emiko herded us together for a group photo.  With 13 extra cameras being passed forward she soon regretted her suggestion and I can only remember one other instance of a group photo for the entire duration of the trip!

Kenai Fjords National Park was our first ‘proper’ destination of the trip and, after our first lunch together, we headed off up the Harding Icefield Trail.  The NPS literature made a real point of stating that the trail is very strenuous and that it will take 6-8 hours to complete the roundtrip but nothing was gonna stop us and, despite not starting until mid-afternoon, we raced up the trail.  Well, we raced up until we hit the snow at which point we slowed considerably and soon lost a couple of the group who turned back.  They probably made the wise choice but I decided to press on, despite boots that were completely devoid of any grip whatever, managing to slip over a dozen times or more and get thoroughly soaked and cold.  This lack of grip would prove to be advantageous on the way down as we soon discovered the easiest - and by far the most fun - way of descending was to simply run and slide down the slope as if we were wearing skis.  Dirk, Tom, Emiko and I had a great time ignoring the switchback trail and going off piste.  Sliding straight down the thirty degree slope saw us race ahead of the others who had gone the more traditional route but, like the tortoise and the hair, we were passed when we made a faux pas and ended up lost! 

Rather amazingly we all made it safely back to the van and headed off to nearby Seward where we checked in to the Breeze Inn for the next two nights.  Having had a nice hot shower and warmed up ended our first day in a nearby restaurant and bar - a perfect end to a very enjoyable day.  Those worries of the previous day had long since disappeared.

Over the coming days we would do a mix of hiking, cycling and even sea kayaking.   There were various extras which we could do, such as whale watching cruises, but I was glad that there was no pressure to do them and, being on a lesser budget than some of the others, I would usually end up doing a hike somewhere or other.  My doctor would have been proud of me.  Until the evening, that is, when I would usually end up amongst the group ‘closing the bar’, as it became known!

After leaving Seward we headed out to the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center which proved, for me, to be one of the real highlights of the entire trip.  We then clambered back in to the van and headed off to the unique combined rail/road tunnel which led us to the equally unique town of Whittier.  From Whittier we took an eight hour ferry ride along Prince William Sound to the town of Valdez.  A few people, myself included, were not particularly looking forward to such a long time on a ferry but the US Forest Service had rather thoughtfully provided us with a guide by the name of Jim who provided a fascinating commentary and constantly scanned the shoreline for wildlife.  He also spoke passionately about the Exxon Valdez disaster - twenty years after the event he was still emotional about it and you couldn’t help but like the man.

We didn’t reach the campground in Valdez until around 1030pm and it was past midnight by the time we finally got all the tents assembled for the first time and sat down around the campfire to toast marshmallows and chat.  After such a manic first few days we were enjoying our first night of camping together - a little too loudly it turned out - and had to be reminded of the time by Emiko… this midnight sun business was sure gonna take some getting used to! 

A couple of days later, after a brief stop at the old Valdez town site, we settled into our seats in the van for our first long drive of the trip.  Destination: Wrangell St Elias National Park.  Unlike the other Trek America group which we hooked up with in the park we had the luxury of staying in the fabulous Ma Johnsons Hotel in ‘downtown McCarthy’.  Now I would find it hard to explain to anyone who has not been the town of McCarthy so I will not even try - I will just say that, if you are even remotely in the area, you absolutely must add it to your itinerary.  Simple as that.  Ignore the fact that you must drive the long unpaved McCarthy Road, ignore the fact that you must leave your car in a parking lot - the same parking lot that the other Trek America group were camped in - and walk a couple of miles into town and just do it.  It will provide an unforgettable experience - it was certainly one of the most popular destinations of the entire trip.

Whilst we were staying in McCarthy we took the opportunity to visit the nearby town of Kennecott which was once the site of the world’s most productive copper mine but which now lays wihin the boundary of the national park.  Whilst in Kennecott we were able to do a guided glacier walk and go ice climbing on the Kennicott Glacier, as well as take a fascinating tour of the old Kennecott Mill.  All of these activities were enjoyed by everyone but the most memorable experience of the day was probably the speed at which we managed to upset the staff at the bar in Kennicott.  We’d not even finished walking through the door before we were getting attitude from the server for no reason whatever.  I think it’s fair to say, by the time we left half an hour later, the attitude had been returned in spades.  I still have no idea what that was about but, hey, what can you do?

After a night camping in the town of Tok - where our arrival on the campground was greeted with a rumour amongst the other campers that we were a band on tour! - we crossed the border into the Yukon.  Up until this point we had enjoyed fantastic weather but, after a long hike in nearby Kluane National Park, we returned to the campground on the shores of Kluane Lake where Chirs managed to anger the gods by going for a swim in the icy water.  A huge storm blew up minutes later and the weather didn’t improve again until a couple of days from the end of the trip.  I am not sure which was worse: the change of weather or his near streak from tent to lake and back.  I think I’ll have to go with the latter! 

The change in weather also coincided with us arriving to tackle the 730km long Dempster Highway.  If, like me, you were thinking that the weather outside wouldn’t matter when the plan was to spend two days in a van driving let me explain that the Dempster is an unpaved.  Whilst it would surely have provided a test of endurance in the dry, it proved to be a real challenge in the wet weather.  With the top surface having turned to mud it gave Emiko ample opportunity to hone her rally driving credentials and quickly earned her the nickname McRae. 

Apart from a number of ‘exciting moments’ on the mud the only real moments of note during those six days were stumbling upon a grizzly and her cubs, the flight to Tuktoyaktuk where we were able to swim in the Arctic Ocean and the ‘team building exercise’ when we attempted to build the gazebo in the middle of a huge rainstorm.  My favourite memory from the Dempster though was when we finally turned off the Dempster towards Dawson City and back on to the billiard table smooth tarmac.   You know that polite round of applause that sometimes goes around a plane when you land?  Let me tell you that this round of applause was entirely spontaneous and thoroughly genuine.  The local tourist board issue a certificate to anyone who travels the length of the Dempster but, whilst it went nicely with the other four I received for various other silliness, I think we deserved a greater reward than that.  Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boarman had a TV series to follow their exploits - I think we deserved that at the very least!

Seriously though, we were lucky that our group were able to deal with the challenges of the Dempster: I could imagine it causing mayhem amongst a less mature group. 

One of the downsides of buying a pre-packaged trip such as this is that there will always be something that you don’t enjoy but at the end of the trip we all had a chat about our best and worst memories and we were collectively at a loss to explain why Trek America retain the Dempster’ as part of the trip.   Whilst I would have had the time of my life driving it in a rental car, it is a thoroughly different beast when you are crammed in the back of a van with 13 other people.  The only visible signs of damage were a chewed up tyre, a damaged lighting cable and dust-filled locks.  But, under the surface, it must surely have done untold damage to the van.  Not to mention the sense of humour of those on board.

Dawson City.  What can I say?  Apart from a few problems when we arrived and half of us ended up foregoing the camping for a couple of nights in the Downtown Hotel (the closest we actually came to any of us falling out which was quite an achievement given the amount of time we spent in the van) it was precisely what was needed at precisely the right time.  Some scumbag had stolen our beer cooler a couple of days earlier in Inuvik but this was soon forgotten as we hit the town with the mission to make up for a night without alcohol! 

The majority of us decided to become members of the Sourtoe Cocktail Club - an exclusive club open only to those brave enough to neck a shot of their choice containing one unusual addition: a human toe!  Induction into the club is a long drawn out event which the ‘toe master’ milks for all he is worth before finally uttering the words, “you can drink it fast, you can drink it slow… but the lips have gotta touch the toe!”  The deed done (and another certificate collected!) it was time to head off to Diamond Tooth Gerties Gambling Hall to consume vast amounts of alcohol, eat pizza, gamble and watch the dancing girls.   A cross between a school disco, a working mans club and a small-town casino, Gerties is thoroughly tacky but great fun nonetheless… like the rest of the town I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I liked about the place but like it I did. 

Next morning all that alcohol didn’t seem such a great idea when - having started the day with a spot of gold-panning nearby - I joined a few of the others to hike up to the top of the mountain that overlooks Dawson City.  By the time we reached halfway I was convinced that I was going to die but we finally made it up to the top and I swore there and then that I would never again let another drop of alcohol pass my lips - a promise I kept for a whole two days. 

Sadly, after two fantastic days in Dawson City, it was time to get back in the van and hit the road once again: this time we had a mammoth 425-mile drive and a border crossing ahead of us.  It didn’t start off well with a hairy drive up the muddy road leading out of Dawson City.  Apparently this is a spectacularly beautiful road but, thanks to the still-angry weather gods, all we got to see was thick fog and heavy rain. 

We approached the border a little nervously - each of us having had our fair share of hassle from US border agents over the years - but, rather amazingly, were through and back into the United States in less than five minutes.  “How many people are on board?” the agent enquired.  “Fourteen”, came the reply, to which he muttered a stunned “what? In THAT?!” before taking our passports away for inspection, shaking his head as he walked.  When he returned he was still in disbelief and simply handed back the pile of ‘freshly-stamped passports before waving us on, still shaking his head.

Soon we arrived at the tiny town of Chicken for a toilet (and souvenir) stop.  Although it was only 11am it didn’t stop a couple of the guys toasting our arrival back in Alaska with a couple of bottles of Alaskan Amber - the drink of choice on this trip - at a local bar!  All too soon though it was back into the van and onwards.  For hour after hour Emiko drove on towards Denali National Park, stopping only to fill up with gas and let us out for toilet and photo breaks.  To anyone else it would have been a tiring day but we were old hands at this by now  - we’re thinking of entering a team in next year’s Le Mans 24 hour race. 

This was to have been our last night of camping but upon arrival at the McLaren Campground we were offered the use of a cabin for an extra $5 a person which left the group split once again.  Personally I thought it was the bargain of the century but others decided that they preferred to camp alongside the river instead.  I guess looking back now that it was a shame not to spend one final night around the campfire but I sure don’t regret staying in that cabin - after all we were able to keep the heat in and the mosquitoes out… whereas the guys down by the river had the exact opposite problem to contend with!

Denali is huge - no getting away from that - and the discussion of how best to see it had gone on for several days.  Now it was finally time to make up our minds.  No private vehicles are allowed to tour the one single (unpaved, of course!) road into the park - you must take a long bus ride in - but our choice was between an 8-hour round-trip to Eielson Visitor Center or a 12-hour ride out to Wonder Lake.  The latter was said to give you a better view of Mt McKinley but, rather tired of travelling by now, I went for the shorter trip - which proved a good decision as the weather once again played its part and prevented any of us from seeing the mountain! 

The weather didn’t stop the half a dozen of us who stopped there from doing a hike up a nearby mountain before hopping back on the bus and heading back to meet Emiko who returned us safe and sound to our cabins to freshen up.  After a quick freshen up we headed off to the restaurant opposite for our much-requested pizza night.  I am still not entirely sure what the problem was but apparently not everyone was delighted to be sitting outside on the terrace, least of all Dirk who launched a somewhat fruitless attempt to get the manager to come out and grovel!  Most of managed to enjoy the evening nonetheless…

The following day presented us with more choices - two different flightseeing tours, ATVing, another bus trip, cycling or hiking - and, once again, I was the tight arse of the group and chose to hike.  I was glad I did and enjoyed a fun morning hiking with Bridget and Mags before catching the Dog Sled demonstration in the afternoon.  Despite the pouring rain I enjoyed them both and had to feel sorry for the guys who had paid extra for the flightseeing only to have their views obscured by cloud.  In the evening we headed out for a meal in the town before heading back to pizza restaurant once again to finish the evening off with a few beers.  We were even joined by Dirk who, in the spirit of peace, agreed to call off his war with the manager for the night.  Or maybe he was just thirsty?  Whatever, despite his protests that he hated the place, he was the last one to leave so it couldn’t have been that bad!

And that should have been that.  The following morning all we had left was a short drive back to Anchorage and we would then be saying our goodbyes and going our separate ways once again.  After a early start to the day when I was woken to wave Chris off - he had to be back at the airport early so had to make his own way there by bus - the day got better and better.  We loaded our luggage onboard the trailer one final time and headed off around 10am.  As we drove towards Anchorage the sun came out and we were finally presented with a view of Mt McKinley which was greeted with some excitement.  So unexpected was it that Emiko made the mistake of stopping for a group photo.  Once again 13 cameras were passed forward - nothing changes!  Although it had - three weeks and 4,000 miles later we had been through a lot together and had turned from a group of strangers to a group of friends.  For the past few days we had joked about a reunion in Barcelona next year but now, as the end of the trip neared, you could sense that people weren’t joking about it anymore - watch this space!

 Eventually we were back where it started - the Clarion Hotel in Anchorage - and unloading our bags onto the pavement.  I can’t speak for the others but, whilst I wasn’t in the least bit worried about saying goodbye to the van, I was a little bit moved to be saying good bye to the other guys who I’d been with for the past weeks and was delighted when it was suggested we meet for one final meal that evening.  As usual there was some disagreement over where we should go and, as usual, we drank far more than we should but it was a massively memorable evening in more ways than one (none of which I am going to go into here - what happens in Anchorage, stays in Anchorage!)  As people drifted off one-by-one, those that remained got drunker and drunker - somehow it was a thoroughly fitting end to a fantastic three weeks. 

“To Barcelona!”

Leaving Sacramento, I turned onto Route 50 and headed east on the road known as the Loneliest Road in America.  It seemed a strange title as it was as busy a road as I’d ever driven but, once I’d left the Sacramento rush hour behind, it did quieten down a little.  After I’d passed Lake Tahoe, and crossed the Nevada state line, I could slowly start to see why the road had earned its name.  It was quite an experience to travel a road where you go for over 100 miles without passing through a town but, for me at least, there was too much traffic on the road for it to be truly deserving of the name.  I wonder just how much of that traffic is as a result of that notorious Life Magazine article and the ensuing publicity?

I chose not to apply for the ‘I travelled the Loneliest Road in America - and survived!’ certificate and instead entertained myself by following the advice that I’d been given previously to explore the side roads and discovered all manner of things as a result: petroglyphs, earthquake fault lines, the infamous shoe-tree and even a group of hippies protesting again the war!  I didn’t have the heart to suggest to them that they would possibly have more success protesting somewhere a little less, erm, lonely and left them in my dust.  Looking in my rear-view mirror I couldn’t help wondering just how long they’d been out in the desert sun and whether they knew the war in Vietnam ended some years ago.

I’d planned to stop for the night in Eureka but there were no rooms available due to a local cross bow shooting event (I kid you not) so I pressed on towards Ely but spotted a campground sign before I reached the town and turned off the road into the Illipan Reservoir Campground.  I spent the night there - free of charge, which I liked a lot - and watched a magnificent sunset before settling in for a truly quiet night.  I think that I was the only person for twenty-miles and, finally, I was able to sit back and enjoy that true feeling of solitude that I’d been looking for all day.

The following morning I continued my journey onwards to Great Basin National Park which was about another 80 miles further on.  The ‘Great Basin’ is a 200,000 square mile area that drains internally, that is to say that all rain that falls in the basin area drains internally, sinks underground or flows into lakes as there is no natural outlet to the ocean.  The Great Basin is actually a misleading name as the area actually comprises numerous basins and, rather than try to incorporate all of it into a national park (which would be tricky as the area actually contains all of Nevada and much of Utah), Great Basin National Park was established as a representation of the area and is actually relatively compact - which is excellent news if your time there is limited as was the case with my visit.  In my 24 hours there I was able to hike up to Nevada’s only glacier which can be found at 12,000ft, enjoy the Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive, go on a fascinating ranger-led cave tour and marvel at the brilliance of a night sky almost entirely unaffected by the light-pollution of almost everywhere else in the modern world.

My only disappointment with Great Basin NP was the lack of shower facilities on the campground.  This is not something unique to that particular park - most national parks in the US are the same for reasons unknown to me - but, not having had a shower for over two days, I decided to check in to a motel in the town of Twin Falls Idaho the following evening.  After two extremely quiet nights it was a little bit of a shock to find myself in the centre of a busy town but not as much of a shock as it was to find myself in the middle of a huge swarm of bees.  “Happens once every year”, I was informed by the desk clerk who could offer no insight into the reason for the pheromone.  Just my luck that the bees would be in town the same day I was!  Thankfully, despite spending an entire evening chasing them round my room with a rolled-up newspaper, I made it out of town intact and set off to my next destination; Craters of the Moon National Monument.

This would prove to be a fair drive but it was something I was getting used to and I’d learnt to just chill out, switch the cruise control on, and go with the flow.  It helped, of course, when I could factor in interesting stops such as at Bonneville!  Eventually I arrived and my reaction was similar to what I’d experienced back at Redwoods National Park: an initial fascination soon giving way to a feeling of apathy and a desire to press on.  I took the opportunity to make a quick stop at EBR-1, the world’s first nuclear power plant, where they were offering free tours before heading straight for Jackson and Great Teton National Park.  I had been planning on meeting some people there for a few days but they unfortunately couldn’t make it along and I was on my own again for the next few days. 

I spent the night on the Gros Ventre campground before heading off to check out the park the following morning.  I’ve said as much before, but there are places where you want to spend time and there are places where you want to press on. I knew immediately that Grand Teton was one of those places where I wanted to spend time and I would spend two long and very enjoyable days exploring all four corners of the park.  The wildlife - bison, bear, moose and all manner of others - was as abundant as the fantastic scenery.  Unfortunately the mosquito population was pretty huge too - especially on the Flagg Ranch Resort where I had a reservation for three nights - and, having spent a couple of hours being eaten alive by huge swarms of mosquitoes, I decided to abandon the place and sought sanctuary at the nearby Lizard Creek campground.  Flagg Ranch weren’t prepared to offer a refund but it was worth every penny to get out of there.  And I got my own back on them by telling everyone I met to avoid the place like the plague, which cheered me up no-end!

By the end of my second day in the Tetons I was tired and looking forward to hitting Yellowstone.  When I was initially planning the trip, Yellowstone had been right there at the top of the list of places to visit, so I was very excited to finally be visiting.  When I left, two-days later, I was quite shocked to be leaving with a feeling of disappointment. Looking back at the photos and videos that I took, I really shouldn’t.  But sometimes you just can’t help feeling the way you feel.

It is possible to over-hype things in your mind, and I suspect that was simply the case here: I had arrived expecting to find something akin to the Serengeti which just happened to be located adjacent to an area resembling the surface of the planet Mars.  Whilst wildlife was abundant, it just wasn’t as abundant as I’d imagined.  Whilst the geysers and hot springs were impressive, they just weren’t as impressive as I’d imagined and, whilst the valleys, waterfalls and mountains were awe-inspiring, they… well, you get the idea.  Yes, I think it’s fair to say that I over-hyped Yellowstone.  Please don’t let me put you off visiting, just make sure you go with realistic expectations.  And, whatever you do, avoid Flagg Ranch!

Camping is a fantastic way to save money and is always gonna be a better way to meet people than being stuck in a motel room but, my god, when it’s cold… it’s cold!  After enduring what must be one of the most uncomfortable night’s sleep in history I chucked the tent on the back seat of the car and hit the road and headed off towards Jasper.  Early.  It proved a wise move as, whilst it may be just 230km in length, the Icefields Parkway is a long drive.  Not that it’s an issue, mind… National Geographic Magazine quite justifiably voted it in the top ten scenic drives in the world.

Entering the parkway I was reassured to see that park staff were checking vehicles for parks permits.  I had bought mine a month ago and this was the first time that it had been checked - I was starting to think that I should have saved my money!  It’s pretty much like driving through the gates of a safari park with black and grizzly bear, moose, elk, wolves and all manner of other wildlife competing with the sheer beauty of the place for your attention. 

Thankfully the road was never built as a means of getting from Lake Louise to Jasper quickly (you have Highway 1 for that) and there are numerous pull outs and overlooks to stop and admire the scenery, do some hiking or read the many interpretive signs which attempt to explain this complex landscape.  This is all great, of course, but what people really want to see are wild animals going about their business.  Bears being the real prize.  Spot a bear alongside the road and all the politeness goes out the window.  Spot a bear alongside the road and you have a three lane wide traffic jam as people jostle to take photos of it from their cars.  You even get the odd nutter who will insist on getting out his car - I’m afraid to say it but usually with plates from south of the border - who will insist on getting out and approaching it as if it were his pet cat.  I guess it’s all part of the character of the place.

After visiting every lake that I could find in the area I finally managed to find the one that featured on the front of my travel guide.  Even if it hadn’t become a personal challenge to seek it out (none of the park rangers could point me in the right direction - I suspect they were messing with me) it proved well worth the trudge through the deep snow to find it.  The fact that, if it weren’t for a Japanese couple, I would have had the entire place to myself added to the beauty of the place.  Lake Louise may get all the fame but, for me,  Peyto Lake is the place to visit.  Simply stunning. 

Halfway along the route, just after crossing the Bow Summit and entering Jasper National Park, you will arrive at the Crowfoot Glacier.  I’m not a huge believer in the theory that we’re destroying our planet but, after seeing how the glacier has shrunk over the past 50 years, it is undeniable that something is changing and my mind returned to a poster I’d seen the previous day - over a photo of a Cree family were the words ‘Once you’ve cut down the last tree and drained the earth of the last drop of oil maybe then you will realise that you can’t eat money’ - me thinks the white man is the stupid one.  It is perhaps the ultimate irony that, to see what damage we are doing to our planet, we have to drive ourselves there. 

I’d arrived promising myself that I would just take a quick look at the glacier and that I wouldn’t splash out the $38 that they were charging to drive me out onto the Columbia Icefield in a specially-built ‘Snow Bus’ but, having stood at the foot of the Crowfoot Glacier - just a tiny part of the huge Columbia Icefield - I couldn’t resist and was soon boarding the bus and heading off down a hair-raising 30 degree slope onto the ice.  It was an amazing (and very cold) experience and I was glad that I’d done it but now time was getting on and I had a decision to make - do I stay overnight in the lodge here or press on?  As usual I pressed on and, after stops at the Athabasca Falls and a couple more places I finally made it to the campground at Jasper around nine - a mere 14 hours after I’d set off.  As I say, it’s not a quick road!

I’m not normally one for hanging around in one place but I like Jasper a lot and spent a couple of days there exploring and hiking as many trails as I could.  On the last day I decided to take another excursion - up to the top of Whistler Mountain.  At 7,500ft it was quite a climb although I guess I should confess here that I did actually take the Jasper Tramway up part of the way… though the last 600 or 800ft were pretty hard work for a fat git like me so it was with some pride that I finally reached the top. 

I left Jasper with a heavy heart.  Last time I’d left by train, leaving a few new mates behind - this time I was leaving by car, leaving behind what really felt like new friends - the Rocky Mountains.  I’d loved my stay and vowed to return in the future to see how my buddies were getting on.

Yoho?  Yahoo, more like!  I think it’s fair to say, much as I loved my visit to the east of the country, I had now discovered the Canada that I had always expected to find.  No, I had discovered the Canada that I had always hoped to find.

The plan had been to fly through Yoho and head south to Kootenay National Park but I spent so long exploring Yoho - starting with a hike out to the majestic Wapta Falls, an aborted attempt to visit the Hoodoos due to a trail closure and a tricky walk around the perimeter of the stunning Emerald Lake followed by stops at Natural Bridge and the Spiral Tunnels - that, by the time I’d finally arrived in Alberta and Banff National Park I’d decided that my plans were too adventurous and instead I decided to make a break for Banff itself and see if I could find the guys that I’d shared much of the ride from Toronto to Vancouver with.  I couldn’t quite remember the name of the hotel that they were staying at so it was pure luck that I stumbled across it and checked myself in for the night.  I showered and returned to the lobby where I stationed myself by the roaring log fire and waited.  Within 25 minutes they returned from their day trip - to Yoho, would you believe - and I jumped out like Cilla Black.  Surprise, surprise!

I joined them in the bar to celebrate the 40^th wedding anniversary of another couple from the train before we headed to a different bar in search of a somewhat livelier atmosphere.  Having been up since 430am and hiked god knows how many kilometres it probably wasn’t the greatest plan to drink six pints and untold numbers of Jack and Cokes before finally stumbling back to the hotel at 3am but, well, let’s just say I did and that I regretted it in a huge way the next morning (and afternoon and evening, come to that!)

I arrived in Banff expecting nothing more than another random town and a (pretty expensive) roof over my head but I left Banff wanting to come back.  I briefly considered the idea that I should learn to ski and return in the winter but I quickly came to the conclusion that I would actually be a far more reliable method of starting an avalanche than the bloody great guns they used to start them in Glacier NP so I put that out of my mind!  I couldn’t quite put my finger on why but I liked Banff a lot and it was with a little sadness that I got back in the car and headed off towards Kootenay National Park.

One of the curious things about the national parks of the Canadian Rocky Mountains is how, to get anywhere by car, you zig-zag from one to another, through a third and then back to the first again, to the degree that they have combined the park brochure into one which is shared between them all.  I guess that this makes sense but, as a sad anorak that collects each brochure as a souvenir, this was a little frustrating.  Not as frustrating as the lack of detail that you will find in the independent brochures but frustrating nonetheless.

Isn’t it funny how the places that you look forward to visiting are often a disappointment - Glacier National Park is a very good example - whereas those that you visit on the spur of the moment often turn out to be a highlight?  Kootenay National Park was a highlight.  It was a little out of the way so I had visited largely to ‘tick another one off the list’ but I loved every moment of my visit, hiking more miles than I ever knew I could hike in a day.  In addition it was the first national park whose campground had been open this year.  And it had hot showers to boot.  If you’re in the area then you absolutely have to make the detour and visit.

Where am I now?  Back in Banff National Park, sat on a rock outside the shower block on the Lake Louise campground, watching the sun set over the mountains and stealing electric as I type this update.  I guess it’s time to head on back to my tent, crack open that bottle of Jack Daniels once again and try and work out where I go tomorrow to top the last few days.  Oh, this really is so much better than working for a living!