Slana, AK >> Eklutna Lake Campground (near Anchorage)
276 miles ridden/6 hours
This morning’s lesson: the Glenn Highway has its fair share of frost heaves/whoop-dee-doos that will wake you up in case you haven’t yet had your morning coffee. The road also provides stunning views of Mount Drum.
“Improvements” to the ALCAN result in stretches of road so straight you can see the blacktop all the way to its vanishing point on the horizon. But as you approach Palmer, there’s a wide, sweeping Hana Highway-like cut-in over the Matanuska River that breaks up the monotony. And just six miles after popping out of this giant “U” is Matanuska Glacier State Recreational Site, which provides direct access to the glacier via a short hike.
Following the Matanuska River, the Glenn Highway winds down into a valley, a collection of tight “S”s without guardrail or shoulder. I imagine the journey east is a little nerve-wracking since one false move could send you into the water below. Then it’s one sweeping turn after another into Palmer, a small community that serves as the gateway to the Old Glenn Highway. This serpentine road skirts Lazy Mountain and the Knik River, and will have you constantly leaning the bike from one side to the other, and is a far better alternative than Highway 1, Alaska’s answer to a four-lane interstate south of Palmer.
While getting gas in Palmer, the customer next to me started asking about my trip and offered to let me sleep in his RV; he also offered directions to the neighborhood of former Alaska governor Sarah Palin, a resident of Wasilla, the next town over. (“You can’t miss her house,” he said.)
I had planned to push on to Eagle River Campground about 14 miles north of Anchorage and camp there overnight, so I thanked him for his offer and asked if he couldn’t recommend somewhere I could get something uniquely Alaskan to eat. He mentioned a diner down the road which served “the type of food you can get anywhere!” I’m not sure which part of my request was unclear, but since this was the suggestion of a local, I was bound to check it out.
One meh meal later, I was off to my destination for the evening, which I missed the exit for because of traffic – a sure sign of civilization if ever there was one – so I had to backtrack only to discover there were no available campsites.
Consulting “The Milepost,” I saw that Thunderbird Falls Campground was just up the road, so off I went. Before learning that there were no available campsites there either – I’ve really got to start paying attention to what day of the week it is – I took the short hike to check out the falls. Luckily, the 10-mile road to Eklutna Lake Campground was nearby and the twisty, uphill trail would be worth riding even if you weren’t staying there. One local described it as “squirrely,” proving that one man’s trash is indeed another’s treasure. Sadly, shoulderless, with no opportunities to pull over = no photos. You’ll just have to take my word for it or check it out for yourself.
This campground was also full, but I was fortunate enough to run into a group of New Englanders along with a Palmer native who let me share their site: Logan, on whose father’s organic farm everyone was working for the summer; JoJo, from Boston; Amanda and Lowell, her boyfriend. Both guys were looking to buy motorcycles to take back east, and on my ride up to the campground road I saw a bunch of vintage low-cc Hondas that looked like they’d just been dusted off from 20 years in storage. Apparently, come summer, everyone gets bike fever so it’s pretty easy to pick up a used ride cheap.
While I was setting up camp a good distance from everyone else, Logan invited me to join his group for a hike to the shore of Eklutna Lake to watch the sunset. As the “magic hour” sunlight illuminated the mountains opposite, a brushstroke of a blue-grey cloud settled in front of the whitecaps making for a picture-perfect scene.
Before it got too dark, we headed back. There was a father/daughter duo at a neighboring campsite grilling hot dogs; he called me over and we chatted about bikes for a bit. Turns out he was trying to convince his teenage daughter to spend a year in Alaska (she was currently living with her mother in North Carolina), at which point she’d be eligible for dividends from the Alaska Permanent Fund, $1,000 or so. But understandably, she was loath to leave her high school classmates behind… After all, how can you put a price on friendship and human connection?