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Different Natures

day 1 I get the neighbour across the street to take a ‘before’ photo of us both and then we’re off. Day 3 Looking like a negative prism, it radiates the morning’s heat with distorted definition. Brushing my teeth from my open door, I contemplated its mystery. Day 4 It seems every signpost generates a song in my head. Day 7 Amongst the wild crashing waves and surf, huge sea lions are bobbing around. Day 7 So we take the opportunity to ride along the beach, mainly because a sign authorises it. Day 10 I wonder if I got sucked into a vortex of a twister would I wake up in the Land of Oz, it would probably just block my air filter and sandblast my paintwork. Day 10 When the track reaches the sand, the bike sinks into it; deep, really deep. It’s as if the bike has been lowered and stabilised. I just step off it. That’ll do, I’ll deal with it in the morning. day 12 My mouth is dry, my stomach is churning and I just want to go back to sleep. If the way I feel, along with the thought of all the miles ahead of us isn’t wretched enough, we now have to contend with the fact that it’s bloody snowing. Different Natures route map Day 1 We get Tammara to take a photo of us. Then we all hug; she probably feels my big wedge press against her. Perhaps I should get a money belt. Finally, with a ‘See you in Alaska’, we’re off. No, wait! I need to get fuel. Day -1 The Day Before We Leave - We all have our lists, we all have our equipment; all that’s left is to put it in our panniers. I really expected this to be fun, but there’s only silence; focused as we are on the task. Route map Day 35 I find a Therm-a-Rest sized area and make camp. It’s perfect. I’m just above the falls, I can look over the cliff edge if I dare and see the river a thousand feet below. Day 33 I cross the red oxide bridge, the uprights disappearing into the mist, but it doesn’t stop me from taking photos of myself with them in the background, my jacket half unzipped and the ‘h’ of my Motorhead T-shirt visible beneath my bandana. Day 30 This is what freedom looks like. For the next two and a half hours, I weave through the static traffic down to Seattle, playing Nirvana and Hole in my helmet. Day 25 Jonathan, standing on the stern and surrounded by passengers he’ll spend the next two days with, turns round, drops his trousers and moons us. Yep it was a very 'ladish' trip. Day 25 The Captain speaks over the tannoy to tell us that this unique and spectacular combination of light and sea life is such a rare occurrence he has slowed the speed to prolong the experience. Day 24 It’s our first sunset in two weeks and it goes on for hours. Whales breech beside the ship. Day 24 I read that passengers without cabins are allowed to pitch their tents on the viewing deck at the back of the ferry. Obviously, tent pegs don’t go into steel, so we used duct tape to stick the guide ropes to the floor. Day 23 He seems a bit dopey and more interested in foraging in the undergrowth than he is in the traffic. He’s big enough to ruin my day if he wanted. Day 23 The trick to spotting wildlife is to try and blend into the scenery. Day 22 We seem to be heading straight for it. It’s like a living thing coming down the valley to devour the road. Its blue, icy claws reach out to us. Day 21 There on the far bank is a grizzly, close enough to be stunning and far enough away to be safe. As we watch her, the cubs come out of the undergrowth. Day 21 Some pasty, but muscular, topless youths in oilskin trousers are standing round a trough of iced water filleting halibut. It’s warm today, but there is absolutely no need for such a blatant display of flesh. Day 21 I order a Bloody Mary, the ultimate hangover cure. It has a very high vodka content; it’s good, it’s tasty, it’s rejuvenating; and this just hours after I said I would never drink again. Lucky, I didn’t say it out loud. Day 21 A guest on a fishing boat excursion has caught a record-breaking, two-hundred-pound halibut. Day 21 I try and take in the vastness of what surrounds me, which is so much bigger then my hangover. I can't think of anywhere better to feel this rough. Day 20 Up until this point in my life, I’ve safely been able to say, ‘I have never attempted karaoke’. Day 20 It has to be said, the majority of this journey has been alcohol fuelled and tonight we reach our zenith. Day 20 We approach Homer Spit. From the elevation of the road, we see the strip of land bowing into the sea in front of imposing mountains with glacial ravines of unfathomable scale. Day 17 We cook our stew over the flames of our contraband wood and then it rains on us. There is a talk going on in the amphitheatre. I can hear the peppy voice of the speaker from my tent. Day 16 The only available supplies for our extended stay in the park comprises cans of stew, bagels, crisps and of course the obligatory Jägermeister and beer. The sky is the darkest it’s been in a week, and it’s nothing to do with the time of day, just the horrendous weather. Day 14 A new day in a strange land and there at last is the sign that announces the circle of eternal light on solstice night. It’s 4am and bright. The sign is the backdrop of our photographs. Day 13 Looking down onto clouds adds yet another dramatic element to this surreal experience. Day 13 When our engines aren’t running, we can hear the oil slosh as it’s pumped to Valdez on the Pacific coast. It’s a giant vein dispensing the lifeblood of our modern planet; the precious, poisonous liquid that will likely be the death of us all. Day 12 ‘Where you boys heading?’ ‘Alaska,’ we say, out of habit. O‘Ya in Alaska now, boys.’ ‘Oh, yeah! ’Course we are,’ I say. ‘The Arctic Circle then.’ ‘What?’ says DRob. ‘That reminds me, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’ Day 12 Top of the World, my arse! We aren’t even above the timber line. It’s barely 4,000 feet above sea level. Denver is higher than this. Day 12 It strikes me with both horror and humour, that we are going to get some dirt up the Dempster (Highway). Day 10 Putting on our waterproofs is now just a matter of course; a daily occurrence. We take the downpour in our stride. It’s not so awful. Day 8 I put The Milepost over the hot-air vent in my room. Then I sit outside – warm, snug and clean – with a whiskey in my hand, watching the sky change colour, but never going dark. Day 7 Tonight is solstice night, I could ride on into it, but we find a deserted camp ground on the side of a river. It seems as good a place as any to indulge in our own interpretations of ancient pagan rituals. It starts with some Jägermeister and a ceremonial fire. Day 7 Day 7 The spectacular and the accessible may attract the hoards, but the boundless beauty beyond is where the real admiration is. The wooden bridge is a talented piece of carpentry, being as it curves over the river; all the elongated planks have varying radiuses. Day 7 This is it: the start of the Alaska Highway, also known as the ALCAN Highway. This is where we stop and take the obligatory photo of the sign. Its only significance being that it is there, for us it means the exact point where the journey continues. Day 6 They have stood up DRob’s Triumph Sprint. Their manner is so apologetic and humble that it defuses the situation before it even erupts. The bike has a bent brake lever and a snapped foot peg. Day 6 As though providing fuel to my loathing, cynicism and sarcasm someone asks, ‘Are you on bikes?’ Our clothing and tank bags are a bit of a giveaway. They continue, ‘Only one has been knocked over…’ Day 6 DRob is doing a second lap of the car park because he wants to park the Sprint in front of a snow bank for a photo. Day 6 It’s dry but cloudy. It wasn’t cloudy in the bloody photos of enticement and promotion. I know how this place can look under clear skies. DRob and Jonathan don’t, therefore they’re in awe of this spectacular, vast, endless range of snowy, rocky mountains. Once again, I just feel frustrated. Day 5 It keeps on raining and the cloud is low. Some sunny peaks reveal themselves, but it’s not really happening for me. I’m not getting the feeling. Later we meet an Australian couple with an Ural outfit who’ve been on the road for some time. Day 4 As the alcohol flows, we scroll through his images and I realise that not only does his camera not lie, but it has a far better memory than I do too. Day 4 Just after dawn one miserable morning under a pylon. Day 3 The air is as still as the mountains on the horizon. I’m thrusting myself at 80mph into this invisible motionless tranquility and there’s absolutely no buffeting at all it's like being the first person to dive into a still swimming pool. Day 3 I have a simple request; my sheepskin seat cover keeps falling off, but, this not being a household of sheds containing tools of implementation, we have to get inventive and improvise. A pair of tights does the job. Day 2 Last night, in some drunken play fighting, I’d fallen against a rock. It wasn’t a big deal, but the graze on my back is right where my waistband rubs. Day 1 We take a bottle of Jägermeister down to some hot springs and tell to anyone who will listen to us that we're heading to Alaska. Years later The stolen license plate looks great on the shed wall. Day 43 Jonathan and Tammara aren’t home. I stand my camera on the dustbin, open the top box, get out my last beer, and toast the journey’s end on self-timer. Day 42 The unmistakable formations of Monument Valley protrude from the flat land; like a police car in my mirror, I can’t stop looking at them. Day 38 I’m in awe of where I am. This place may not give me respect for the law, but it certainly gives me a fear of being convicted for breaking it. Day 36 Being on the morning side of the Half Dome, the sun hits it directly. I’m the only person on the planet this morning with this view. Route map Day 60 It must be the track that leads to Balance Rock. I wander down it. ‘Fallen and wedged rock’ might be a more accurate description. Day 61 People who sleep lose out on so much. Not that I’d tell them that, and even the most touristy of attractions can be viewed in relative solitude before or after hours. I have the place to myself. Day 61 The lines run parallel, but are at a 30-degree angle to the river. Obviously the water is level, but there is an optical illusion caused by the uniformity and by the formation of the gouges. Day 64 I pass a Google Street View vehicle, its all seeing camera strapped to the roof like an anorexic Dalek. Wow, I’m going to be on Google! Day 64 In the town of Pecos, on US 285 northbound the Google Street car stops at some lights at the junction over Interstate 20 and I pass it again. This may seem like excessive detail, but it’s expensive to put photos in books, and out there in cyberspace is a photo of this moment, if you care to search... Day 64 Day 64 Day 64 Day 64 Day 66 I’ve done it. I arrive like I left, to an empty house. The bike is encrusted in snow, but once it started up this morning, it didn’t hesitate or let me down again. I pat it and thank it. ‘Couldn’t have done it without ya!’ Days 59–63 Put the kettle on and watch some desert skies. Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Days 59–63 Patterns... filling in spaces Puerto Escondido ‘You’re clearly a professional photographer. Could you take some photos of me surfing? I’ll pay you.’ I’m not a professional, but if he pays me then technically I suppose I am, so I agree. Puerto Escondido Puerto Escondido the Indecision I’m trapped. The end of the world will just have to happen without me. The preparation Five days after I order them, the tyres arrive along with the forecasted blizzard. Day 1 OK, so here I go then! It’s a decision made due to lack of options. I’m going to Mexico, via an ice-packed dirt road that leads to a slush-covered valley road. Day 2 The serenity, the scenery and the song in my head remain the same until I reach Roswell. I don’t have the slightest interest in UFOs and I’ve seen before what this place has to offer. Day 2 With a blood red sunset, the temperature rises and I cross into Texas. I can switch off my waistcoat. Day 3 The park is big and I’ve done 30 miles before I find the fourwheel drive track. The evening is getting warmer. Day 4 When the sun and hot chai have taken the chill away, blood, ink and thoughts flow more freely. Day 5 I miss first light, but I’m up for seconds. Up to my hillock for more dawn. I’m worryingly happy. Is it OK to be this content and this alone? Day 7 It’s time for the ravioli … and no desert. I feel a growing need for a taco and cerveza. It’s been a very dry week. Day 13 Some fucking recommendation this turned out to be. There is the sound of sloshing as the sewage is processed and the smell hangs in the clammy night air. Day 15 The ocean-hugging road has plenty of sweeping, swooping corners and on the best ones vultures sit on posts doing what vultures do: lying in wait. Quite possibly for an Englishman with bad judgement and dodgy tyres to add a touch of variety to their accustomed mad dog diet. Day 16 I sit at a table, sip my beer and listen to the music. Led Zeppelin is followed by Boston. I push my toes into the sand, lean back on my chair, so my hair falls away from my neck, look up at the canopy of palms above me, and I feel the feeling. It says this is where I’m meant to be. Day 47 After I’ve seen 30 sunsets; some with whales, some with waves, some in the company of a wounded surfer, and some just high on my balcony, It's time to leave this behind. Day 48 This was never my intention. I only wanted a beer for the sunset, but I do happen to have a map to show and tell. Unfortunately, it’s inside the cover of my book. I just show the map and then the photos. It feels a little like I’m at Motorcycle Live again. ‘So that’s you?’ ‘Yes, but I just wanted to show you the map.’ It’s too late though. Out come the phones for photos of me and the bike. Day 49 I woke I drank water and now, at first light, there’s not a trace of a hangover. I get up for some silhouetted cactus sunrise shots. Day 52 We ride up to a geothermal plant, a place of pipes and tanks, high-pressure steam and pylons turning natural resources into power. The pipes arch and bend around the landscape like a Windows screensaver. Puerto Escondido ‘You’re clearly a professional photographer. Could you take some photos of me surfing? I’ll pay you.’ I’m not a professional, but if he pays me then technically I suppose I am, so I agree. Puerto Escondido Puerto Escondido Puerto Escondido Day 57 I pitch my tent and run around taking photos of spiky silhouettes against the sunset. I start to feel tiny prickles in my hands. I must have brushed against a bush or something. I spend the last of the light with tweezers, pulling out tiny barbs that I can’t see, only feel. Day 58 I pass the occasional discarded and dilapidated building; crumbling stone and rain-washed rendered, their isolated location leaving little wonder as to why they would be abandoned. Only why would they be built here in the first place? Day 59 I have a long, straight ride to America. I calculate my fuel and I think I have enough. After I leave the town, like yesterday, there is absolutely nothing on or off the road. I recalculate my fuel. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be OK. Day 60 I have a 360-degree panorama and can’t see a single trace of humanity.
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Graham Field

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  • About Graham Field

Graham Field is the author of motorcycle adventure travel books: In Search of Greener Grass, Ureka & Different Natures.

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