Duelin' with the Dalton* 10.1.24

We felt we were ready for the Dalton Highway.  We had full tanks, both water and propane, food, and heat.  Yes, we had been warned.  But in the first few hours, we realized we had seen worse.  Out in the American West, we had been on roads the Bureau of Land Management euphemistically calls “unimproved,” which is code for “not really a road at all.”  Many stretches of the Dalton were not gravel as we had been told, but dirt, which has a lot of gravel on it and is still hard to drive on but not as slippery as all gravel.  There are numerous potholes and roller-coaster sections, as well as some washboarding.  Driving it is mentally strenuous as you have to be alert so as not to hit those rough sections at too much speed.  We were often the slowest rig on the road, moving over a bit to let the cowboys in the big trucks bomb past.  It’s their road.  Truckers have the right of way here.  We’re visiting amateurs.

Remote is hardly the word for the country up here.  Often we could see the highway for several miles in both directions and there would be not one vehicle, person, building, sign of human habitation, or even animal (the only animals we’ve seen so far on the Dalton were the large ravens that haunt every pull-out and rest stop, doubtless looking for junk food garbage, and chipmunks), nothing except us – and the pipeline.

 The Trans-Alaska Pipeline System, however you may feel about its presence and its future or lack of same, is a marvel of engineering.  It comprises 800 miles of 48-inch diameter steel pipe, welded in 20 and 40 foot sections.  Some of it is buried and some is above ground on supports which are maybe 10-12 feet high and 20 or so feet apart.  It runs parallel to the highway in places, sometimes not visible and sometimes right next to the road. 

 

We had not long finished talking about how we’d seen worse when we hit the mud.  (Unfortunately in a modern car there is no wood to knock, only plastic.)  Suddenly the road was entirely dark mud, but only on the right side for some reason.  Going uphill, the wheels started to slide and the trailer was fishtailing.  I was driving at the time and it was a terrifying feeling.  I wanted to switch to the left side of the road, but I could feel the back of my neck getting cold as I realized I might not make it up the hill, which was blind so that I could not see any oncoming traffic until it was too late to move over.  LCR switched the car to 4-wheel drive and the wheels began to catch.  There were a few patches like this over maybe 7-8 miles, during which I switched from left to right and back several times to make room for a barreling semi, and then we found a place to pull over.  It was the most scared I’ve been in a long time.  I could not imagine what would happen if the car and trailer got stuck in the mud – how would we ever get them out?  With no cell service, it’s doubtful we’d get tow service any time soon, and of course it would be outrageously expensive. 

We felt wrung out and decided to dry camp right where we were.  The pull-out was not very level but we didn’t care, until LCR got the idea of fixing some egg noodles, and then the pan kept sliding off the burner because we were at such an angle.  We decided it was not the night to cook after all.

The next day, Monday, I was grateful for the now dry road and that LCR did not have to deal with the mud as I had.  Of course there were the usual potholes and bumps which were sometimes hard to see due to shadows on the road.  After one of these bumps, not even a big one, we heard and felt a louder bump and a crash.  We could hear something dragging behind us.  When we stopped to examine the trailer, we found it separate from the car and resting on the pavement.  A bracket on the hitch had somehow worked loose and the trailer had bounced right off the hitch.  There was nothing to do but wait for help of some kind.  It was 45 degrees out and there was no cell service.  I wanted to cry, but did not actually have time.  A truck came along almost immediately and the trucker came over to check on us.  When he saw the damage he pulled his truck forward, saying it was possible we could get it fixed on the spot.

 It looked at first as if the hitch itself was damaged, but that turned out not to be the case.  The SmartJack, an electronic device that came with the trailer and enabled it to be raised and lowered at the touch of a button, had taken the force of the impact.  The jack was toast, literally in pieces all over the place.  But there was minimal damage to the trailer and no damage to the car that we could see.  The trucker, whose name was Toby, along with a man who sounded Australian and his teenage son, Ethan, worked together.  Ethan manned the tire iron with the jack in manual mode while LCR maneuvered the car, and they got the hitch put back together again.  An Asian man and his entire family came to see what they could do.  They found twist ties and we had some zip ties, and along with a bungee cord, they all contributed to getting the trailer hooked up again.  Incredibly, we were back on the road.  It had taken maybe an hour.  We thanked them profusely, and told Toby he was a savior, but he replied, No, I’m just working for the Savior!

Toby advised us that the road ahead would be more of the same, only worse, with snow from the recent storm and sections of large gravel, rocks really, that had not yet been paved over.  He recommended going on to Coldfoot for fuel and not going farther north.  He said these roads are so bad, they frequently break things even on his truck, which is a huge hauler of the type you see up here.   

When we told people in Coldfoot what had happened, they replied that we'd seen the care of the Dalton, that nobody gets left behind and people look out for one another.   

 

Coldfoot Camp is not really a town; it’s a census-designated place, so named because so many travelers get cold feet on their way to Prudhoe Bay.  Well, now we know why.  Hardly picturesque, it’s basically a parking lot with a café, a gas station, a small inn and gift shop, a tire shop, a minuscule post office, and that’s about it.  After getting fuel, we treated ourselves to eggs and potatoes, standard breakfast food but we like it any time of day.  Out here in the middle of nowhere is the first place I’ve found that can fix eggs the way I like them (well done, turned over and fried crispy around the edges).  A most satisfying meal!  And the staff were friendly and helpful with information about the area.  Our server recommended that we continue to Deadhorse but without the trailer, but we said, no, thanks, we’re through going north on the Dalton. 

 

Gas prices:  Everything in Coldfoot is small, except the price of gas: $7.50 per gallon.  A lifetime high for me.  I get it, it’s a remote area, but still … this is in sight of the pipeline!  It makes no sense to me.

 

* Fans of classic rock may recognize this as a reference to the 1973 Eagles’ song, “Doolin-Dalton,” about a gang of gunfighting outlaws in the Old West.