In hindsight, I bet this river is the same one I stopped to play in, although I didn’t realize it at the time. The appearance of the bridge brought me back to my old steel mill days. It looks like it is made from Cor-Ten, not painted at all. Yet even looking rusty it gives a pretty good impression.

The turnout is at the west end, to the right in this view, and I did some exploring and hiking around. I’m standing in a little shale stream bed, and the trickle of water falls down a vertical cliff at lease three hundred feet high. It must be something in the spring thaw. I went around all four reaches of the bridge, but couldn’t get a good shot. So the shadows were getting longer, and I decided to make camp. In my exploring for a ‘good’ campsite, I went whomping through some deep mud, hit a hole and got my bike stuck. With the exercise in getting it out, I was really tired by the time the tent was up.

But, all in all an auspicious beginning to the first miles covered under the word "Alaska" -- mind you, I am a very long way from the State, but the state of mind is starting to take over.  Just days ago, it took several  hundred miles just to get over the fiasco of the first ten feet of the trip.  Then, I damn near froze myself.  The next zone I did call boring, but the cruising through the Canadian plains did bring a peaceful outlook to my psyche.  It helped leave the bustle of Chicago, my job at the software factory, and the ties of a predictable daily life behind.  I figure it is mental cleansing. 

The first few miles are a complete change of tune.  You follow the river, and it has these grand sweeps, curving in and out of your complete range of view, with swamp pools in the foreground, this huge river in the middle, and majestic peaks beyond.  There are huge tree trunks just floating by. I used a 21mm lens to take some linked panorama series, but when I try  join them together they reveal that I can’t hold a level to save my butt.  I won’t trouble you with them here, you might as well go see it yourself.  I’ve told you how to get there.  Some of my stupid pictures show the same tree trunk in two frames, with the time delay, and I figured nobody would notice.  Guess what, nobody has yet.

Not too far along, I get a geology lesson about how flash floods can transform the gigantic valley I'm traveling through. They take the power of the spring floods from the snow cover in the peaks, and at the outlet of each valley, they form another pyramid of ejected junk.  The end effect from the original sharp peaks, and the filling in by the runoff-rubble, is called shark-tooth mountain profile .  Hah! I learned that from a roadside tourist marker.  Again, the pictures suck.  All you see is my dirty bike and a big rock wash.  There is a cool mountain behind, but the bike looks like dog poop and ruins it.

But wait, I’m really on the fabled Alaskan Highway!  So maybe my old mind is clean enough.  This is exciting!  In the morning I packed up with a nervous energy.  On the road first thing, I had to bring under control my tendency to translate my great attitude into great (and excessive) speed.  The bike is in superb tune, it seems supercharged on the crystal clear air and crisp sunshine.  The duffel bag is finally positioned perfectly and stays on like it grew there.  Sure, cool dude, - Don’t get too smug.  Pay attention to the road and be vigilant for them wild animules that I am so eager to see.