Ouch

I'm not a superstitious person generally but working with computers I should probably have known better than to buy and affix a "Dalton Highway - mission complete" sticker to my bike when I got to Prudhoe Bay. Of course Prudhoe Bay is only half the mission, you have to get back to civilisation in one piece too. Whilst I just about managed that, the bike was not so lucky.

It started well enough, Jim and I left Prudhoe Bay in reasonable conditions and some sun. It wasn't especially cold and we took it really easy through the horrible road surfaces across the Arctic tundra. Once again we climbed the Atigun pass to cross the Brooks Range, and again I really enjoyed the scenery. Coming down through the lower sections of the mountains, the road has steep 45 degree gravel shoulders and is lined with large rocks. We swept around a bend and saw a car decorated with stickers saying 'Buenos Aires to Alaska' and there was a chap standing by the car. He was pointing behind us, so I took a look in my mirror and there was an immense rainbow across the valley. I thought it was so pretty I'd have another look so checked my mirror again to get a better view.

Unfortunately I should really have been looking where I was going, I put a wheel in the hard shoulder and lost control of the bike. Once it had started to go there was nothing I could do, even though it was all happening slowly - couldn't brake, couldn't steer so I rolled off as much speed as I could and waited for the painful bit. I guess I was doing about 45mph.

I ended up in a heap with the bike on top of me, but I was lucky in that I managed to miss all the big rocks at roadside. By the time Jim rode back up, sounding his horn to attract attention, I'd managed to extricate myself from under the bike and give myself the once over for broken bits. My feet were throbbing and I was convinced my left foot was broken for a few minutes, until the initial pain subsided and I could move my toes and arch my foot. Then there was a nasty pain in my right side, which I wasn't too sure about.

Fortunately I'd invested in good gear - my crash helmet had taken a good knock and my shoulder armour was badly dented. So things could have been a lot worse.

The Argentinian chap and a truck driver had by this time turned up, and helped Jim right the bike (Jim had insisted I sit down). I got my wind back and gave the bike the once over - broken gearshift lever, broken windshield, broken rear indicator and the pannier locks were buckled. Not too bad. I managed to knock the bike into neutral and get it running. Things were looking up - after all we were in the Brooks Range, at least 300 miles from the nearest help. Jim ziptied the luggage back into place after I beat the brackets straight with a rock. Then I rode the bike a few dozen yards and managed to change gear by hooking my foot right under the broken lever.

We thanked the two guys for their help and rode off slowly in the direction of Coldfoot, to get fuel and consider our options. The bike actually handled ok, I was getting a bit of buffetting over the broken screen but I could live with that. The biggest problem was my confidence over the gravel. Every time we came to a corner I would slow to a crawl. Then we hit a thick mud surface - we'd ridden this road at 50mph the day before, but overnight rain had turned it into a quagmire. At 15mph the bikes were almost unrideable, both Jim and I were slewing sideways. Coldfoot took an age to reach, but as I pulled up and turned off the engine I heard barking and yapping off in the woods nearby. It wasn't until the yapping turned to howling that I realised it was a pack of wolves. Jim wanted to leave at that point, but we fuelled up and discussed our options. It was about 5.30pm and we'd covered 250 miles, but as it would be light almost all night, we could consider riding all the way to Fairbanks. I figured I would be virtually immobile with bruising the next day so this sounded like a good plan.

The roads south of Coldfoot were at least 100% better than further north, and we made reasonable time, however the pain was pretty bad and not helped by the fatigue of riding 500 miles in one day. By the time we reached Fairbanks it was all I could do to stay on the bike. Jim was stiff as a board too. We stayed at a decent but expensive hotel and split the cost of the room. I slept like a log for the first time in a few days too.

The next day Jim was due to head East toward Canada, I was in no state to go anywhere so I decided to have a day off. I said my goodbyes to Jim and thanked him for his help and cool head after I binned it. It felt like we had known each other for ages instead of a couple of days. I reserved another room and spent the day patching up the damage to the bike, and investigating whether jacuzzis are any good for bruising. A combination of the warm water and Ibuprofen seemed to work pretty well.

The suzuki dealer in town had none of the broken parts so gaffer tape and a spare indicator bulb made the bike not quite as good as new. Add to that the half inch thick layer of cement-like dirt and the bike really needs some TLC.

Today I rode 100 miles or so down to Denali National Park and will be spending a few days camping here and sightseeing in the park. With luck my bruises will have healed up by the time I get back on the road.

Frase.