Among the many standouts of bicycle touring in Alaska, the Dalton Highway was a special treat.  It’s rugged with majestic varied terrain, there’s abundant expansive aloneness, and the road and pipeline always themselves seem uncomfortable unnatural exceptions to the wildness of the place.

Superficially, the first few hours on the road can imply a wobbly blend of Into the Wild meets Mad Max.  It’s true that the exquisite sense of vastness, solitude, and remoteness is every day periodically cracked by the rumble of truck traffic. The Dalton is first and foremost a haul road, and it owes its existence to the need to move material to and from the immense industrial arctic oilworks at Prudhoe.  My overwhelming impression of the truck drivers was that they were polite, respectful, professional.  I never once had a conflict or felt in danger as a cyclist.  I was there well into hunting season, and I found the hunters, too, helpful, friendly, great to chat with.

In addition to the positive interactions with the community of the road, what stays with me is losing myself in hours of late-August orange, red, and gold paint dabs against a green canvas unfurling into skyline.