Our Anniversary. Thirty-one years, and our first
marriage. Imagine what we can
accomplish. We decide to treat ourselves
and make reservations to go off-caravan for a day in Fairbanks and fly to
Barrow, the northern most point in Alaska.
But today is a drive day.
We leave Delta Junction and take the Richardson Highway across the wide
Tanana River glimpsing again the Alaska Pipeline crossing, and head north-west
to Fairbanks.
After 60 miles we pull in to the Knotty Shop, which offers a
free scoop of ice cream if you show them their ad in The Milepost. There have to be maybe 10 other Airstreams in
the lot, but we do it and they do it and it was good. They sell knick-knacks made of wood, and we
buy nothing. They should probably take
another look at their business plan.
We continue on to the North Pole, a real town just short of
a full deck – ah, I mean just short of Fairbanks. There must be 20 shiny Airstreams in the lot
of the town’s inevitable Christmas Store.
The steering wheel magically tugs us in and we take a long time browsing
and getting nothing, free or otherwise.
The store, however, has a fenced in area of bored reindeer (caribou to
you of weak faith), and this provides some entertainment.
Eventually, of course, we leave and get on what is
now a divided highway as we near Fairbanks, but after a short distance my tire
monitor bleats that the left front trailer tire is losing air. I pull off and can’t see a problem but
pressure has dropped to 50 from 65 and to 45 as I’m looking at it. We are 10 miles from camp and I decide to go for
it. The theory: camp will be nicer, there will be a beer available, and
if I drive slowly the truck and the other 3 trailer tires should get me in just
fine.
We continue at slower speeds, Barry and Claudia in the lead,
Larry and Martha as caboose; Mike and Jane are parkers today and are already in
camp. The alarm continues to bleat and
the pressure falls to 40, then 35.
Claudia is using the CB to alert me to spots I can pull off if necessary; Martha,
with Larry, is protecting my rear. Marcia
is reading off ever declining pressure numbers.
Jane at the RV park picks up the radio chatter and talks us through the
best way to come in. I’m feeling like a WWII bomber pilot, 3 engines out and the 4th on fumes,
limping back to field, my mates fending off attacking German fighters. Now the pressure is in the 20s and I’m stuck
at a traffic light, something pilots don’t have to contend with. We start again and I have the park in sight
and the tire monitor is really complaining, but we make it in with about 10
pounds to spare.
It is traditional in Airstreaming for a crowd to gather around a hood up, or any other anomaly. As I change my tire a crowd gathers - did I feel it, aren't those tire monitors wonderful, how fast were you driving, did it get the sidewall, better get a chock in there, etc. It turns out I have a cut on the inside sidewall.
Ironic that it would happen now, after we’ve come off the bad
roads. Excitement over, help not needed, everybody
disappears. I take the tire to a shop
that sells the same brand (mine are only six weeks old). They call an hour later and declare the tire not
repairable, my fear. I now have a new
tire for $189, maybe $35 more than it would have cost me at home, assuming the
selling store would not cover it on warranty.
The day concludes with a nice happy hour and dinner with
friends celebrating our anniversary.
That was edgy and I was squeezed in between Marcia and you all the way. If you were in a WW2 bomber, you would have had to ditch with only one engine still working. My dad's B-24 ditched on a coral reef in the South Pacific when two engines went out - on the same side. I'm still enjoying your trip from the sofa.
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