A small town called Nenana lies south of Fairbanks with a large Native population. Up the river from there Craig scheduled for us to meet with Robert Charlie, the director from the Cultural Heritage and Education Institute. While Robert Charlie turned out to be a bit of a swindler and general let down as he rushed us through our meeting at the village to make $100 for a boat ride, our arrival at Old Minto was a memorable one. The village was full of amazing people trying to help with substance abuse amongst natives and preserve cultural traditions.
We did not want to leave the village as the evening had a potlatch scheduled with traditional preparation of moose, salmon and other dishes. Everything was done the old fashioned way, smoking Moose in old shed and fish preparation on the banks of the river. The meal looked to be delicious, but our stay was cut short by Robert Charlie, so you can thank him for the lack of photos of the main event, which we had scheduled for months in advance to attend. The night prior a town local warned us that Robert Charlie might try to scam us. It turned out to be a great experience despite Robert Charlie’s mislead agenda. We hope someday to return and learn more about this wonderful place.
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ts Jerry and Susie. We had some great meals and conversations with them, and were beyond lucky that they had an abundance of halibut. Home cooked meals are never taken for granted by anyone on the crew. We were also fortunate enough to participate in two stellar activities in Valdez. The first was done by the other crew members as they ventured out within the Columbia Glacier sea kayaking with 
Yet another long day of driving resulted in a crazy end of the day. Tired and weary we turned off the highway to find a place to camp. It was a gas company road, but also had a sign for camping. It did, however, have another sign that said that trucks during the muddy or snowy season should have chains. The adventure began. I was in the passenger seat of the follow car, with Miss Magnuson driving the Tundra in front of us. The road was less than stable. “OH, NO!,†gasped Miss Hodge from the backseat of the Sequoia as the Tundra slowly made it’s way into the ditch. At an angle, almost ready to tip over, was the tough Tundra. Out of the truck popped a crazy-haired Shoppman, with a huge grin on his face as he stated, “Welcome to Africa, my friends, it’s been awhile since I’ve had to do this.â€Â “Game on,†I thought, “here we go.â€Â We rigged up a tow rope, got Craig rocking in the Sequoia, and had Shoppman battling with the Tundra. After a little bit of a struggle we came out victorious, and got both vehicles to somewhat safe ground. We found the campsite, pondered yet another memorable adventure on the road, and sat around the fire together for dinner at 1 in the morning.
The Hungarian takes the wheel, smiles all around
One month ago we set out from Denver for the great wide open wilderness of Alaska. Before leaving, Craig and I conducted considerable research on the last section of road to Prudhoe Bay named the James W. Dalton highway. I found a website with an entire page devoted to the road named 
Then came reality. About 20 miles in, the road went back to pavement. For the next 500 miles it did the same, going back and forth to gravel and pavement. While it was no small feat of a journey, it certainly was not the picture that had been painted in my head. The roads are clearly beaten down by the overloaded trucks, constantly moving permafrost, –70 temperatures in the winter, and the regular precipitation. This leaves a varying degree of smoothness from new pavement to giant whooping dips that could send you airborne into the soggy earth lining the sides of the road. After the first 200 miles, it seemed likely, the road beyond Coldfoot would prove to be the bad part. After Coldfoot, the road did not really change, but the loneliness quickly set in.
off in good spots to let the “18 wide by 150 longs†pass. So while it was not the exciting near death passes anticipated, it was a great lesson in speaking truck after using the CBs more for these 500 miles than any other part of the expedition.
That night, if it can be called that with a full sun in the sky, ended with a drive back out of town to a frozen bog next to a ice-chunk filled river where we cracked a celebratory bottle of wine while shivering while setting up tents. Earlier from our research, we found it was to be a full moon, but the bright sun drowned out any sightings of the moon while the freezing Arctic winds ripped through our clothes. However, still was a nice way to finish, knowing the moon was up there somewhere sharing the sky with the sun. Nothing could bring us down as no victory after a near two and a half year struggle across 69 borders can be soured. While Deadhorse proved to be quite possibly the worst place over the entire 80,000 mile journey, the midnight sun in this alien land cast an excellent light over our final triumphant cheers to the last frontier of our journey
The summit of the pass lead us to the North Slope and all the animals that live there including Caribou and the funky Musk Ox that looks like a buffalo wearing a robe. Very few people live along this road, but those that do had already read the article about us in the Fairbanks News Miner before we started the journey back, so our successful journey had us received in Coldfoot and Fairbanks like stars. Unlike our un-climactic cross of the US border into Houston, this milestone produced a sense that the journey meant something to the community that surrounded us. Stops at coffee stands and truck stops granted free cups of coffee and cheers from those who knew we had just accomplished a great feat. “You are those world adventurers,†said the enthusiastic staff at the front desk of the Pikes lodge that hosted us on our return. They agreed to give us a congratulations dinner on the house, and later the waitress confessed that she was nervous to serve the stars she had read about in the paper a few days prior. The reception of these kind people put the icing on the cake for an expedition finale to remember.
We’ve really enjoyed ourselves in Alaska, and all feel very fortunate for all that we’ve been able to see, experience, and the people we’ve been able to meet, so it was nice that we got to give back a little this week, as well. It has been another great stretch of days in the northern most state. It began with a great lake and river kayaking trip/fly fishing trip with 
The following morning brought us to the 
y Fishing.
He began his trek on the Stampede Road 17 years ago, and would have had to walk right by Coke Wallace’s place, the last place on the road at that time. Wallace was living in a wall tent, and as he said, “I must have just missed the kid walking by, as I was probably putting up fence posts.â€
Coke skillfully maneuvered his tough as nails Polaris Ranger through where he believed McCandless was initially dropped off (pictured above), small creeks, mud bogs, and swamps along the narrowing trail. We successfully crossed the Savage River, but a bit further down encountered the mighty Teklanika River, which would be as far as we would get. It was so close, but yet so far away. The bus, only 8 miles now away, was up over the ridge that was right in front of us. The toughest ATV I’ve ever seen, and even a beyond adventurous/no water fearing Craig, had to bow down to the whims of Mother Nature.
