It's going to be a very bumpy ride...

North of Skagway

Monday morning, June 25th, saw a cloud cover so thick the mountains across the harbor were barely visible. We said our goodbyes to our neighbors, Donna and Jerry, just before they headed out and the rain began. The wind continued to blow the now only upper 40 degree temperatures around the tourists wrapped in heavy jackets and scarves trickling off the cruise ships.

North of Skagway

As we drove out of Skagway, my heart heavy with having to leave, I snapped one picture after the other not wanting to forget any little bit of the town. We headed north on the only road out of Skagway, Hwy 2, and into some of the densest fog we’ve encountered. The beautiful landscape with the high snowy mountains and crystal clear pools of water were completely invisible behind a thick blanket of fog just beyond the guardrail. It looked as though the valley was as unhappy at our leaving as we were, and drew in its view in sadness.

Along Hwy 2, north of Skagway

Fortunately, at one point and for only the briefest of moments, some of the landscape revealed itself to us. We stopped and took pictures, though they again don’t capture the depth of what we actually saw. We drove on, past Fraser and through the Canadian customs checkpoint, past Bove Island and through Carcross again. We continued onto Whitehorse, the largest city in the Yukon, under heavy clouds with the threat of rain fairly constant. We stopped in the Walmart parking lot for a few hours, to have dinner, take a nap and wander around some of the stores nearby. By 8pm or so, the clouds began to part and the sun came out, so we decided to drive farther north to shorten our trip to Tok, Alaska the next day.

Haines Junction

With precious few other vehicles on the road, we turned west onto the Alaska Highway out of Whitehorse. About an hour and a half later, when we rounded the bend into Haines Junction, we saw a goofy statue at the intersection. This crazy thing looked like a giant cupcake with mountain goats, Dall sheep and a moose sticking out of the icing. Ha! We drove a bit farther and stopped for the night at a pullout along the highway. The clouds had returned though it was still pretty bright out when we turned into pumpkins.

Burwash Landing sign

On Tuesday morning (June 26th), we awoke to strong winds shaking the RV and lots of menacing clouds. The temperature had dropped to probably the mid-40s with the wind and dampness. Brrr. We left the pullout and trudged our way toward Tok. We skirted huge Kluane Lake (pronounced clue-AN-ee) as we drove through the miniscule town of Destruction Bay, so named because a big storm destroyed some equipment used by the US Army during the construction of the Alaska Highway. We also passed tiny Burwash Landing, whose largest and most obvious feature is its painted sign shaped like a huge gold pan.

A paved section of the Alaska Highway,
near Kluane Lake

Now, this stretch of the Alaska Highway is marked on all maps in our possession as paved, and one assumes that, considering the high number of travelers using one of only two roads into mainland Alaska, the road would be at least level and passable. One would be wrong. We found several miles of loose gravel, with only a small orange flag next to the road to mark the change from pavement. Other times we found the same small flag to herald a frost boil or giant heave in the asphalt, or even to mark a big pothole. No cones, no construction barrels, and certainly no actual construction crews were seen repairing any of these when we came through.

Kluane Lake

But these lumps and bumps and head bruises were simply the appetizer to the main course to come. The worst stretch of road in the entire North American continent is along the Alaska ‘Highway’ a few miles before reaching the U.S. border. Hands down, this section takes the cake. We slowed to a crawl, about 10 miles an hour, and still had our teeth rattled from our heads. The poor coach and everything in it very noisily bounced, shook and shimmied over this gravel mile that would have been better suited for scrubbing clothes or grilling meat, at least on a smaller scale. Zounds.

After that escapade, we reached the waiting line for U.S. Customs. Finally we pulled up to the station for a thorough interrogation. The official asked us all manner of questions, just short of the rubber glove treatment we got driving into Canada from Washington State. Eventually we passed the quizzing and drove on, but we felt a bit indignant about the question regarding how long we’d be in Alaska. We’re US citizens, pal, we can stay as long as we’d like. Sheesh.

Another 90 miles or so and we arrived in Tok, nicknamed Mainstreet, Alaska, because everyone who drives into the state passes through the town. A better nickname might be ‘Giant Intersection’. And I don’t mean giant intersection, like in major cities of the lower 48…I mean ‘giant intersection’ in a town the size of a peanut. One that doesn’t even require a traffic light. Truly, Tok is where the Alaska Highway (west towards Fairbanks) and Glenn Highway (south to Valdez) meet. East of Tok the Taylor Highway heads north to Chicken and back into Canada.

We camped at the Sourdough Campground, a large park with very few campers but plenty of mosquitoes. We washed the last 2,500 miles or so of road grime from the RV and the car there and did some laundry before driving back into downtown Tok for groceries and beer. (The price of groceries in Alaska, like the price of gasoline, is significantly cheaper than in Canada, but still much higher than in the lower 48. We paid $4.16/gallon for gas in Tok compared to the $5.16 in Whitehorse.)

We tried to kill the mosquitoes but they were very persistent and there is safety in numbers…especially such huge numbers. We found some Alaskan tourist literature that mentions permits or licenses needed for fishing and big game hunting, but that there is no bag limit on mosquitoes. We’re trying to do our part but it's a big job.

We settled in for happy hour, mostly to avoid the bugs, and to relax after such a long and bumpy ride. The damp chill and gazillions of blood suckers outside didn’t encourage an evening walk, so we studied the brochures and plotted our next day’s course over the Top of the World to Dawson City, Yukon.