Chapter 23 - Motorcycling to Alaska

Zachary and I each have another year of Bible college before graduation—but Zach is ready for a break. “Why don’t we take a semester off and help out at Alaska Village Missions in Homer?” he suggests. “I can do some building for them, and you can find nursing work nearby.”

I like the idea. Mom and Dad are moving to Nyack, New York for a semester where Dad will teach cultural anthropology to future CMA workers. Zach and I could have a taste of mission work together. “Say—why don’t we travel up by motorcycle?” I suggest. We’ll sell the truck and buy a Harley!” We love cycling…and this would be a memorable adventure.

“Well, Lee Downey and Wes Syverson and some other guys are thinking of cycling up to Anchorage to work for the summer—maybe we can join them,” Zach muses.

So, after more discussion and prayer we do just that. We sell the truck, buy a 1200cc full dress Harley, and store our belongings in Grandma and Grandpa Hofer’s basement. Mom and Dad have already left…we’ll see them at Christmas.

We live with the Hofers while we prepare—purchase black leather jackets, white helmets, a small tent, and duffel bags. Zach paints patriotic ribbons on his helmet, daisies on mine. We pack frugally, carefully. And on a fine July day we load up in their front yard--Lee, Wes, Tom, Zach, and me. All of us are pumped, excited, Grandma and Grandpa dubious, but accepting. We pray together for a safe journey and roar off.

Soon after, at a stoplight I get an exhaust burn on my inner leg. Unbelievable—we have barely begun! A pharmacist nearby helps with ointment and a bandage, and each day after I change the dressing till it heals.

West, further west we chug all day through South Dakota in uncommon heat, getting sunburnt. It turns out to be a day of extremes. Our Harley has three blowouts on the rear tire. Each time Zach patches and fills the tire with air, but gets more nervous in driving as we wobble and nearly hurtle off the road! After the third tire repair the weather drastically changes. Strong wind nearly presses us over, black banks of clouds march across the sky…the atmosphere begins to look faintly green, grows very quiet.

When we sight a small tunnel of cloud further west we stop by the side of the road. “Look,” Lee says. “There’s a culvert over to our right if the tornado comes too close.” We watch, fascinated as the spiral shaped tunnel dances over the fields, coming closer, north of us. It touches down in a farmyard about a mile away, then moves farther east.

And then the wind blows! So strong I fear it might push our cycles over. A few trucks and cars are parked by the side of the road, so we run to some of them for cover. Zach and I and Lee are welcomed into a big rig by a trucker, huddling till the storm passes. As we leave we thank him profusely.

“Glad to help you guys,” he says, smiling.

That night we decide to pay for rooms rather than camp. We are all exhausted. Coming upon an old hotel, the five of us share two rooms, hauling up our bags. Some of my pancake mix has spilled through a duffel bag, and I clean it up. “Why did we bring so much food!” I think, exasperated. I climb into bed next to Zachary, grateful to be warm and safe.

“This is quite an adventure, Zach.”

“Yes,” he murmurs sleepily. “We won’t forget this!”

We are about three weeks on the road, mostly camping out at night. Some mornings we have a time of prayer before starting. Wes and Lee are interested in pastoring, Zach and I in mission work. Tom is quiet, sincere in his faith, growing. There are pastor friends along the way--so one night we stay with them—on July 21, 1969 when the astronauts walk on the moon. We watch history happen on the black and white TV as Neil Armstrong takes his giant step for humanity on the moon’s face! And we are living our own history, cycling across the northwest.

Finally, saddle sore and weary, we camp in a park near Prince Rupert, on the Pacific coast of Canada. It happens to be the weekend when local whites and Indians celebrate on the town. The five of us wander among them, observing the raucous flavor, eventually wolfing down a good meal and collapsing in our tents. The next day we book passages on a ferry heading up the Pacific coast. We are cutting out 1,000 miles of dirt road by taking the ferry!

After boarding we observe the magnificent coastline scenery, passing Ketchikan, Wrangell, and stopping in Juneau for a few hours. We debark on a cold, misty afternoon with other cars at Haines, and head up the Alcan Highway. Four hundred miles of dirt road before we hit pavement! Mud and mist and high meadows. Desolate, except for wildlife. I huddle behind Zach, trying to stay warm.

Tom’s cycle sputters and breaks down near a highway maintenance station, and the men work on it, finally deciding it’ll have to be shipped to a motorcycle shop. Having arranged for that with the maintenance crew, Tom rides behind Lee and we push forward through the fog.

Cold and bone-weary I numbly watch a vehicle coming toward us on the muddy road thinking, “Why didn’t we drive to Alaska in a car, like most people?” When we finally reach Anchorage, another pastor couple take the five of us into their finished basement. Sleeping well for a few nights, I am restored.

But Homer is our destination, so hugging Wes, Lee, and Tom goodbye we chug south on the Kenai Peninsula to Homer. A frontier town set on a hillside, it overlooks Kachemak Bay, with mountains and a glacier far across the water. A long spit of land protrudes into the bay, four and a half miles long, with a crab cannery at the end. So picturesque…I am amazed.

Ray and Petra Arno, the founders of Alaska Village Mission, welcome us warmly into their home, knowing Zach from his former summer work there. We live with them around ten days, attend their church, then move into empty Bible school housing outside of town, on a hill.

Unpacking our few belongings in the tiny furnished duplex, I tape large watercolor pictures from a calendar to the wall above the sofa, making it homey. Zach begins helping other carpenters build more student housing, and I borrow an old van and look for work. The little local hospital can’t hire me as a nurse because my state board scores haven’t been issued--I have no nursing license. But there is work in the crab cannery at the end of the spit, and yes, they will hire me! And so with tall rubber boots and a warm jacket, one morning I start for work.