San Francisco to Alaska, and back. July 2012.

Saturday

As we left, one of the locals that had been holding up the bar the previous evening, was holding a stop/go sign for the grader levelling the road. I stopped for a brief chat with him, whilst the others rode on. When I said goodbye to him, and turned onto the grandly named “International street” a black shape appeared from the left and walked casually across the road. It was too big to be a dog, and I held my breath as I switched the GoPro on. My first sighting of a bear! I didn’t get too close, as I didn’t want to scare it (or me!) so it appears as a tiny speck on the wide angle view of the camera. Through the border crossing, who weren’t in the least bit interested, and on into Stewart for breakfast with the others.

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Cassiar Highway

Leaving Stewart by the same road we'd arrived on gave us another chance to admire the scenery as we rode through a steep sided valley. Waterfalls cascaded
down the sides, and deep green forest lined the road. It was a damp morning, low cloud clinging to the tops of the mountains, so a steady pace.
Back on the Cassiar Highway we again turned North, further into the Yukon Territory. There were quite a few stretches of roadworks to contend with, I'm
guessing they try to get everything patched up before winter comes. At the first set we watched as they used a helicopter to move piles of logs. As soon as it
was clear we were waved through, and a bear ran across the road in front of us! The next set coincided with a fuel stop at one of the few motels along the
route, and this fragmented the group as we were waved through at different times. It only takes a couple of minutes of riding faster, or slower, than the
others for you to have a long stretch of road all to yourself if you so desire.

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Like Easy Rider, but different.

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We also had our first encounter with steel grid bridge decks. These are best taken at a steady speed, with a relaxed grip on the bars, as the tyres follow the undulations in the steel mesh.( Not too relaxed a grip, obviously! ) It can be very disconcerting to look down though, as the effect of speed makes it seem
as though there is nothing beneath you but river! At some point we crossed the Continental divide, but this was marked on my map, not on the ground so I didn't really notice.

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Don't look down!

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Mine's quicker than yours!

Gaz and I swapped bikes for a while, for no other reason than we could, and we rode through a section of recently burnt out forest. The majority of the foliage
had been burned away, leaving the only the blackened trunks stuck up like so many toothpicks. Rather eerie. It was also noticeable that the further North we
travelled, the trees got shorter and scrubbier. Gaz was ahead of me when his (my?) brake light came on unexpectedly. It was only a slight bend, what was he
playing at? Then I saw the Bear at the side of the road! We turned around, and I switched the GoPro on. The bear completely ignored us, though Gaz did suggest chucking rocks at it to see what it would do. I didn't think that was the best plan, but the bear must have heard him and wandered off into the bushes.

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Watson Lake was our destination for tonight, quite a large town by current standards. At one end was a "Signpost forest", but we were staying at the other
end in the Air Force Lodge. Chris has stayed here before, and warned us about the somewhat eccentric owner. We were required to take our boots off before
walking beyond the entrance. Fair enough, big stomping bike boots are not good on your best Axminster, but this was for any outdoor footwear, and the carpets were nothing special. The owner also liked everyone to listen to his talk about the history of the Air Force lodge, before he gave you the key!In its favour, it was clean and inexpensive, but a bit too eccentric for Little Mark, Geoff and Clive. They got rooms in a motel a little further down the strip, where Gaz, Chris and I joined them later for a beer. We rode everywhere
though, as the town was very spread out, and the other side of the street was 200 yards away! An early night, as Chris had an early start planned with 100 miles before breakfast!
Mark
 
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Sunday
Today was Bob's birthday, and we set off good and early on Highway 1, the Alaska Highway, otherwise known as the Alcan. This was described by Chris as a "heads
down" day. The road was good and wide with long sweeping bends, and huge sweeping vistas before you. It is possible to OD on scenery!

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A slight misunderstanding about the distance to the breakfast stop (is that in miles or kilometres?) saw our first fuel error, as Gaz tried to freewheel the last 10 miles. This plan fell at the first incline, so the siphon pump was called to the fore (available at Adventurebikewarehouse.com) and Johno was swiftly relieved of half a tank of unleaded. I think he's still waiting for it to be repaid!

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A small settlement called Rancheria was the fuel and food stop, a stereotype of the truckstops that keep these kind of roads operational. The petrol pump was some way from the office, and the couple that ran the place, so you were trusted to tell them how much fuel you had put in! You then pay for it at the same time as you order your food. Ten bikes arriving at once can cause some confusion though. Gaz was pleasantly surprised when his order of ham and eggs arrived within seconds, Bob was hacked off to find that his ham and eggs, the very first order, arrived last. And on his birthday too!
We were by now riding in smaller groups, but with Gaz and I nearly always towards the back, so when we caught up to a few of the others parked on the wrong side of the road we stopped to see what was happening. Down in the margin, as the Yanks call the verge, was a black bear enjoying its own breakfast. It soon got tired of the attention and wandered off. Not much further, and there was another bear, on our side of the road this time. I pulled alongside Alex (on the opposite side to the bear) while we filmed it eating berries off the
roadside bushes. As it came to within 10 feet of us, Alex leaned over and asked if they were dangerous. "Don't know." I said, "but you'll find out first!"
Needless to say, the bear didn't give us a second glance.

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A brief dip back into British Columbia, as the line didn't follow the road, then back into Yukon. We crossed the longest steel deck bridge yet, at Teslin, which must have been 200 yards long! At the other side was a Motel and petrol station, a chance to check out where we would be staying later on in the trip.

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As we neared Whitehorse the road skirted a large body of water, shown as Marsh Lake on my GPS. The shoreline looked odd, but as I got closer I realised that it was a line of RV's parked along the waters edge. The roads were full of these, ranging from quite modest, to absolutely huge! I can see the appeal over there, less so in the UK. We stopped for lunch at a truckstop opposite Whitehorse International airport and to regroup. There is a small museum at the airport, and an old DC3 on a swivel as a wind vane, which some of the lads went to look at. Chris, Gaz, Little Mark and I went instead to look at one of the old paddle steamers that used to ply its trade on the Yukon River. There was a brief film show in a marquee next to the boat, and between that and the joggers using the park we were kept entertained for half an hour before heading further.

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Continuing on the Alcan out of Whitehorse, the road seemed wider and the countryside more open, and the mountains seemed to be getting closer and closer. The already 'Big' scenery switched to 'Huge'.

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Cruising along, iPod singing away merrily, and I see a couple of bikes up ahead. Little Mark stopped at the side of the road, Chris a few hundred yards further doing a U-turn. "Not another black bear?" Thinks I, switching on the GoPro, "or is it a breakdown?" Little Mark appeared to be hunched over the tank, but as I rolled up to his back wheel I saw that he was carefully getting his camera out, so I followed the direction it was pointed........
The biggest Grizzly bear I have ever seen (in real life) was standing in the trees at the side of the road. I nearly fell off the bike in shock. It turned
and walked back into the undergrowth, and I started breathing again. It's one thing to see these magnificent creatures on film, but to have one 20 yards away with nothing between you is something else entirely! I U-turned myself and joined Chris, who confirmed that that was one of the biggest bears he had ever
seen.(Those weren't his exact words, if you watch the video you'll understand!) Sadly for my credibility, the video footage shows nothing but some rustling leaves,
but Marks photos do. A couple of miles further on was a sign for camping!

We stopped that night at the Alcan Motor Lodge in Haines Junction. "The management" had procured a few cans for us to celebrate Bob's birthday so we congregated around the bikes in the car park as the last of the suns warmth settled behind the mountains. Other riders staying at the motel wandered over with the now customary "hey, where y'all from?" and such, and we chatted with them for a while before wandering off for food.

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That's the view from our Motel, stunning!

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Johno thinks so!

Mark
 
I think Marky d may have got a reasonable picture of the huge Grizzly. It was definitely the biggest bear I've seen and I've seen a few up in the area over the years. Feckin mahoosive would just about cover it:thumb
 
A great write up and pics. Looks like a fantastic trip.
 
Monday

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This should have been with yesterday's photos. :blast

Chris had us up and out early, wheels rolling at 6.00am! It was quite a fresh morning, cold enough for me to put the heated grips on and fasten all vents. The sunrise cast long shadows and glorious colours over the mountain range to the West of us, and I stopped to try and capture it on camera.

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And Bob tried as well.


We pulled in at Destruction Bay for breakfast, a name to conjure with. It was a larger than normal truckstop, with rooms and a gift shop. The breakfast was excellent, and a few extra stickers appeared on the bikes before we left. According to my map, the highest peak in Canada, Mt Logan, was in the Wrangell mountains which we were running parallel to. The road out of The Yukon and Canada seemed to suffer from being at an extremity, the Tarmac was badly broken up and in some places all but disappeared. In a shallow lake to the side of the road, we saw what we thought to be a Moose, but it was too far away to be sure. Passing through Beaver Creek had everyone’s head on a swivel, but surprisingly we didn’t see a one! A photocall at the sign for the Canada/ Alaska border was a must, as was passing through the border control.

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Gaz mugging for the camera.


I was last through, and as Chris had sent the others ahead we had a spirited ride to catch up. This was hampered slightly by the very haphazard road repairs on the American side, which seemed to delight in leaving patches of gravel on the apex of bends! Our lunch stop was at Fast Eddy’s, which made me chuckle, thinking of the enduro series back home. This was another large truckstop, with more great food. An old boy was seen stocking up at the salad bar with two six guns on his belt. We were amazed, salad?
Chris warned us that the next 200 miles were straight and boring, so my ipod took the strain. It had warmed up again, so by the time we got to Delta Junction we were all ready for an ice cream. According to the sign, this was the end of the Alaska Highway, we were now on plain old Highway 2.

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From Delta the road got a few more curves to it as we passed through a number of Recreation sites and Park areas. Gaz, Jon and I stopped to take pictures of a Moose at the side of the road, Jon’s camera battery pack fell off and he nearly got wiped out by a truck as he retrieved it! Gaz switched on his Gopro and challenged the Moose to a race, unbelievably it took him on!

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As we neared Fairbanks, there was a sign for The North Pole. Thinking it was a joke, I was surprised when there were more, and even more so when Chris led us off the now dual carriageway and into North Pole. Even more surreal was riding up to Santa Claus’ house, complete with giant Santa, and some tame reindeer. Apparently this is where all the letters that kids send finish up.
Cultural highlight over, we blatted the last few miles to Fairbanks and to the University Campus that was to be our home for a couple of nights. The University let out the rooms in the Halls of residence when the students aren’t there. They are clean, comfortable and inexpensive, and would also store all our gear for us while we tackled the Dalton.

The downside is lack of food facilities when the University is closed, and its a fair walk into town. This was duly taken, and we somehow ended up in a bar where they served beer in old jam jars. Little Mark treated us all to Pizza, ordered in from Domino’s, much to the bemusement of the locals. It was “open mic night” for storytelling and anecdotes in this particular establishment that evening, and after a couple of reasonably amusing tales from our host, he asked if anyone would take up the baton. Oh dear.
If you’ve met Gaz, you may have an idea of what happened next. If you haven’t, I’m afraid this ride report would take too long if I went into detail. Suffice to say we were all crying as we’re trying to keep a straight face, but some of the audience were crying genuine tears at the plight of those poor orphans.
I was sat between Chris and Little Mark, so if it had turned ugly I should be pretty safe. I still had my eye on the door at the back of the bar as my emergency exit though.....
Mark
 
Tuesday, Fairbanks.
Today was a lazy day, which meant everyone rode their bikes somewhere! After a lie in of sorts, we converged on Sam’s Sourdough cafe on University Avenue opposite campus.
The food was good and plentiful, and the waitresses were well used to dealing with big, rowdy tables. Most of us had booked to have some sort of work done at Adventure Cycle Works (no relation) during the day, and a rota was quickly formulated to save sitting around. Blogs were updated, washing sorted, some shopping done etc, all around the timing of Dan and Shaun’s work rate.
I had ridden out on a set of part worn Tourances, and had pre ordered Alaska's favourite Heidenau K60’s to be fitted. Adventure Cycle Works have an efficient if slightly
eccentric set up. Working out of the garage at the back of the house the two of them sorted each bike out with whatever it needed, all the while dispensing the
wisdom according to Alaska. You didn't have to necessarily agree with their opinion, but the job went quicker and smoother if you did! I wasn't too sure
about the recommended tyre pressure in the Heidi's, thinking it was too high, but agreed to give it a try. I sit corrected. Watching how hard they worked
getting these tyres on, I made a mental note to use Bakerman’s method of removal when it came to change them once back home!
Dan asked which of us was the storyteller, word had got around about Gaz’s Tales of the unexpected. Not sure whether I could cope with another session!
On Chris's recommendation, we stocked up on snack food and energy bars, as food stops were few and far between for the next couple of days. Gaz had gone to one
of the "outdoor" shops and picked up a mosquito net for me that you could wear over your crash helmet. This was to save taking your helmet off for roadworks
and such. It could be worn over a hat just as easily, like a bee keepers hood, as I had forsaken my previous Marlboro bug repelling habit.
Once the bikes were sorted, and a couple of fuel cans hired for the shorter range bikes of Bob, Clive, Gaz and myself, everyone took their panniers and excess luggage up
into the rooms to sort out just enough gear for the next two overnight stops.
Mark
 
Wednesday.
The panniers and surplus luggage were stored in a room at the university for our return. After stowing these we piled into Sam’s for a substantial breakfast to fortify us for the ride ahead.

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Steak and Eggs, proper breakfast! What did you have Gaz?

A slight touch of nerves was evident, this was the unknown to all except Chris. With brimmed tanks, and the extra cans securely fastened we set off. To help keep the group a little more manageable, Chris had suggested two groups of five, with Gaz leading the second group, and me as tail end. That way each “lead” rider only had four bikes to check his mirrors for. The first hour or so was tarmac, the Elliot highway, which twisted and turned its way generally North until we reached the start of the Dalton Highway, the infamous Haul road. Taking photos at the sign led to our first drop, but pride was the only casualty.

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Just behind my bike, is a GSA having a lie down....

Here the tarmac ended, and the dirt began. The first few miles were spent getting used to the feel of the road surface, which was hard packed, dry and dusty. It didn’t feel all that different to some of the roads we’d already travelled, but the dust clouds meant you backed off from the vehicle in front. Quite a lot of traffic on the early stretch too, as witnessed by the queue that built up at the roadworks we encountered in the first hour.

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This was the first test of the “over helmet mozzie net”, which it passed with flying colours.

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There's no flies on me!


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Another eight bikes turned up to join us as we waited for the escort vehicle to take us through at slow speed. Overtaking the trucks after the escort turned off gave us an empty road to play with, and we were soon settled in to a steady 55-60 mph. You still had to keep your eyes open for bumps though, as the mixture of dirt and some broken tarmac could rattle your teeth a bit. Happily for me, my bike is set up so that I am equally comfortable sitting or standing, so I treated it just like Tesco’s carpark. One bump loosened the petrol can on Clive’s rack, so I flagged him down so we could secure it. In the couple of minutes it took, the others had got some distance ahead.
“Better catch up!” he grinned, and so we did…….

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The bridge across the Yukon River had a wooden deck, not to be trusted in wet weather I suspect, but as we were enjoying a dry spell it wasn’t a worry. There was a fuel stop just over the bridge, so we topped up. Cafes are few and far between on the Dalton, so it would be rude not to stop and a little further on was the “Hotspot Cafe” where we had a brew and a snack.

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Another group of people came over to ask “where y’all from”, and two young girls had their pictures taken sat on the bikes. The sign said we were 60 km from the Arctic Circle, which is apparently as far as a lot of the “tourists” go.

As we left, it was noticeable that the sky had darkened, an example of how fast the weather can change at this latitude. Covering the signposted 60 km quite quickly, a couple of us rode past the 'rest stop' at the Arctic Circle and had to double back. :augie There are a couple of toilets, an information board and a big sign in an open parking area.

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Photo opp duly observed, the rain started. I had brought waterproofs to wear over my Aerostitch for inclement conditions. The 'Stitch is waterproof, but gets heavy and retains water, which it releases over the hotel room floor overnight. Also, gravel roads and water means mud, so the waterproofs would keep me cleaner. Now was a good time to put them on I thought, which was vindicated shortly after as the rain assumed biblical proportions. We swam the remaining 80 km to the truckstop at Coldfoot, where tanks and stomachs
were due for filling. Gaz was disappointed to find that his range was less than mine, and so we brimmed tanks and reset trips to compare the next day. As the rain was still bouncing down, I fastened my waterproof jacket over my luggage before we piled in for the "all you can eat" buffet, which was excellent value for money and tasty with it. There were very few empty spaces at the tables, as the massive car park outside was filled with trucks and a couple of crew buses, along with our ten bikes.
Our accommodation for the night was about 15 minutes away at Wiseman, in cabins in the woods. A brief lull in the rain allowed us to get there and get already
soaked gear hung up to dry.

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The Boreal Lodge cabins were basic, but clean and warm. I made sure my GoPro was plugged in properly to charge, as it had died before we left Fairbanks that morning, so sadly no footage today. Unpacking my bag, I found that my glasses had fallen apart, the vibration being chief suspect. A temporary repair was affected, but wouldn't last long. After a brief shower and change we all sat around the little TV in the communal lounge/kitchen drinking coffee and watching the classic DVD "Once upon a time in the West". Not everyone appreciated this fine piece of cinemagraphic history though!
Mark
 
Adventure Cycle Works in Fairbanks. They will sort any bike out as long as it's NOT a Harley:D
 

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Adventure Cycle Works in Fairbanks. They will sort any bike out as long as it's NOT a Harley:D
That,s Dan there with the red shirt and the long hair giving my paraffin pony the once over :rolleyes: tells it like it is Dan does:D
 
Thursday
"Are bears more active first thing in a morning?", I wondered to myself, as I skipped across the puddles to the outside loo. Bob had been out early to take photos, and swore he saw a wolf in the trees. Breakfast was coffee and whatever we had brought with us after Chris's reminder about self sufficiency. A light rain was falling, so I started the day with waterproofs again. Riding out of Wiseman at 7.00 am, low cloud clung to the side of the mountains giving an ethereal effect to the landscape. The road surface varied in the wet, from hard puddle strewn and compacted, to soft loose liquid gravel over a hard base, a little like a layer of wet concrete spread over a previously set floor. Riding relaxed and allowing the bike to move about beneath you was the most successful method, and trying to avoid ruts left by the trucks. Chris had pointed out to us that the truck drivers were very nervous of bikers, not being used to seeing them this far up the Haul Road, so we would pull over as far as possible when one was heading towards us to leave them to get on with their job.

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Anyone familiar with "Ice Road Truckers" will have heard of "The North Slope" and the "Atigan Pass", two infamous landmarks as the Dalton crests it highest points. The North Slope is a long gradual climb on an almost 90 degree left hand curve, nothing in the current weather, but you can imagine how tricky it could be with a full laden rig in icy conditions. We stopped at the top for photos and a quick check that everyone was happy with the ride thus far. The Atigan is longer, less steep and with more bends over its 2 mile ascent. The
Armco bore plenty of scars, each testament to some potentially life threatening incident. At the highest point, 1440m, a lone tractor unit was parked. Its driver probably not expecting his nap to be disturbed by ten bikes parking near him for photos. The other side of the pass was a swooping set of bends, goading and scary at the same time. After riding down, I turned back to give it another run, with a bit more feeling this time!Johno was sat at the bottom with his camera, but the results were less spectacular on film than they had been in my head.

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The highest point of the Atigan.

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As we were talking an escort vehicle pulled up beside us, and the young lady driving pointed out that there was an abnormal load on its way down, and for us to keep out of itsway. It was a large sectional building, and we easily outran it. Stopping for "lunch" a little further, Chris had pulled into a layby where it was possible (but not legal) to walk right up to the pipeline that is the whole reason for the road. Difficult to imagine the hardships that must have been endured by the people setting this feat of engineering up.The sun had now broken through, so the waterproofs were stowed away again, and we had dust to contend with for the next hour or so.

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Isn't this what squirrels eat?

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Formation mozzie netting.

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Someone got it wrong!

Gaz invented a game of GoPro chicken, where we had to film each other at the same time, and first to look forward lost. He cheated though, and screamed, causing me to look first!
The terrain changed to tundra, flat and featureless as far as the eye could see, and the weather turned back to damp and drizzle. The roads were wetter than the conditions suggested though, and there were long stretches of the loose gravel that moved around under wheel in a most disconcerting fashion.

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Flying Doctor?

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You've no idea how many shots it took to get this one.

As we neared Deadhorse, the mist closed in so that we could hardly tell where the buildings of the camp began. Thankfully, Chris knew where the fuel station was, and we filled up before posing in front of the sign at the general store, the end of the road for private vehicles. The postmistress came out to take our photo, and quite a crowd gathered round us. "Hey, where y'all from?"

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It's all South from here.
The stores had a glasses repair kit, can't remember who saw it, but I still have it in my tank bag! We settled into our luxury accommodation, the dormitories for the workers. Apparently the workforce nearly trebles in the winter months, leaving room for tourists like us in the summer.

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The Ritz, it aint.

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Bet that's an interesting beast to drive.

Another buffet supper in the works canteen, but as Deadhorse is dry, we couldn't have a celebratory drink. We instead spent a couple of hours sat in the corridor, talking shite, as you do.
Mark
 


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