Tuesday June 17. Palmer to Denali to Fairbanks Alaska. I am awake at six and the snow covered mountains are still outside my window. The Weather Channel says it's forty-two degrees and it is going to be a superb day. A perfect day to see Mt. McKinley. No rain is predicted until tomorrow. This is just what I hoped for. I decide to skip Anchorage. I am really enjoying glaciers, waterfalls and high speed riding.  I will get none of that in Anchorage.

I take the cut-off out of Palmer and through Wasilla. A sign along the road  proclaims Wasilla to be the home of the Iditarod Trail dog sled race. As I pass through the town I remember a unflattering story I was told about Susan Butcher, who won the Iditarod race several times. It is sad how the politics of marketing and advertising can even corrupt even a sport as straightforward as dog sled racing.

The ride north on the Parks Highway  is totally unremarkable. I feel like I am back in the "lower forty-eight".  This can not be where they begin the Iditarod! Fortunately things get a little better around Trapper Creek.

At Trapper Creek I see a mountain in the distance. I tell myself it can not be Mt. McKinley. I tell myself that I'm still to far away to see it. I am wrong, it is Mt. McKinley, in all it grandeur! All 22,320 feet of it. I continue to catch brief views of it as I ride. At the first observation point I take photos.   This is better than I thought it would be. I can see 360 degrees and there is not a cloud in the sky. A truly picture perfect day. [pic]  I am later told by a Forest Ranger that there are only a few days each season when the view of the mountain in completely unobstructed. I am so happy that today is one of those days.

I ride into the Denali park village and visit the main interpretative center. It is crowded with tourist and I feel very uncomfortable. This is more people in a small space, than I have seen in the past twelve days. I decide to skip the bus ride into the park and instead chose to ride my bike in. It's five dollars, but I can not stand the thought of a cramped bus and an aisle seat.

My five dollars is poorly spent The drive is only twelve miles into the park and while it is good, it pales in comparison to the free vistas of the Dempster, Thompson Pass or the road to Hyder. I feel bad for anyone that comes to Alaska and only sees the park by bus. You can not experience wilderness while riding public transportation! I am lucky to have seen the areas I did, and even more so to have experienced them on a motorcycle. It is one thing to see an area, it is completely another thing to feel, smell and be part of an area while on a motorcycle.

I am feeling a need for a new rear tire. The rough roads and miles of gravel have me worried about a blow-out. I am compulsive about  tires and admit I replace them well before well before they are completely worn. While at the park headquarters in Denali  I  phone the BMW shop in Fairbanks to ask about tires and an oil change. Unlike the first class service I got in Oregon, I end up talking to a crazy man at Trails End BMW. He begins by interviewing me on the phone to determine my "worthiness" as a customer. When I tell him I am from Los Angeles, I can hear in his tone that I am in deep trouble. "No way I can do it today". "Probably too busy tomorrow". "Call me tonight after seven and I'll let you know, but I doubt it"." Maybe I can do it on Thursday". "Where did you say you are from?" Needless to say I did not get tires and an oil change in Fairbanks Alaska.

I leave Denali driving north to Fairbanks. The ride is boring. The remarkable scenery of the Yukon and southern Alaska is behind me now and I am disappointed with most of the three hundred miles from Palmer to Fairbanks.

 While waiting at a construction stop, the flagman warns me to watch for a blue patrol car running radar in a small town ahead. Further down the road the speed limit abruptly change from sixty five to forty miles an hour. Sure enough, the blue patrol car is there. It was nice of the flagman to share this important piece of information, for I surely would have earned a ticket.

I get to Fairbanks about five o'clock and decide to look for a room for the night. I ask the cashier at the fuel station if there is a good motel near. She says the one down the block is good and that it is directly across from the strip club. Her comment hits me like a ton of bricks. What is it about my appearance that causes her to think that I need both a motel and a strip club? I must be on the road too long! I reject her recommendation and go to the local Motel 6. They want one hundred and seventy five dollars for the last room available. I can not believe the rate, but learn  the town is hosting a youth soccer tournament and a Harley rally. I will not spend that much for a room and decide to drive further east and camp for the night.

I find the Salcha River State Campground and pitch my tent. I take considerable enjoyment in saving one hundred and seventy dollars. I get a good nights rest and watch the moose graze in the meadow along the edge of the campgrounds. 

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