Fairbanks

It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to go on a lone road trip. I’ll admit I was giddy heading out of Fairbanks down the George Parks Highway to Denali—120 miles south. With a two-year old I don’t often (or ever) get to blast the radio with my favorite hair bands consuming the sound waves. With “Welcome to the Jungle” exploding the speakers, so commenced a day in the Park.

Views of the Tanana Valley sprawled on the left as I climbed the hills outside Fairbanks. Climbing and dipping over the ridges lent views of fall’s forthcoming colors. Splashes of yellow dotted the south-facing hillside and the sky was bright blue. At 65 above it was perfect driving weather.

Once out of the hills you come upon the little town of Nenana, Alaska—a small place with a big history. The hub of Interior Alaska transportation—until the dawn of aviation—dog sleds and riverboats converged upon this small village and fanned out upon braided trails and river routes. With enduring traditions—like the Nenana Ice Classic—this stop along the highway is more than just that. It’s a spoke of cultural preservation as a modernizing world “progresses” around it.

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At 12:30 pm I arrived just on time for Jeff King’s Husky Homestead tour. Greeted by wagging tails I crouched down to poke my fingers through the fence and scratch a dozen furry faces. Enclosed in an all-inclusive pen—it came with authentic Alaska log cabin dog house and exercise wheel—two litters lounged and napped atop one another. It is a family tradition in the King family that Jeff’s daughters name the new pups. The girls have always chosen to name the new litters in themes. These little boys and girls were of the Fabric—Cotton, Rayon, Nylon, Burlap and Silk and Hat—Magic, Beanie, Fez, Ascot, Derby, Stetson and Bonnet litters. They were all either full brother and sisters or at least half-brother or sister—they all had the same dad—Suspect (you ol’ dog)!

For a small moment I had the pups to myself, but alas a bus with 16 eager visitors needed their puppy fix. I got to help welcome them with—a puppy! That’s right! As part of the extremely important socialization program of dog training, Husky Homestead ingeniously uses willing visitors to cuddle, snuggle and smooch these fun-loving and gentle athletes.

After helping “train” these potential Iditarod winners an outdoors demonstration shows the crowd how the dogs are harnessed, exercised, fed and cared for. With a full yard of howls we went inside to learn about the man behind the tour.

Jeff King is known as the world’s winningest dog musher. As a four-time Iditarod winner, Jeff is one rugged athlete. He breeds winning dogs (not only for his own team, but the competition’s, too), invents state of the art gear (sleeping bag snow suit, anyone) and has mastered the art of racing—and all with a humble spirit. As one whole wall of the theater is lined with his trophies, he never once mentions his own victories. However, he’s never short on stories of his four-legged champions.

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In a quick shift of gears I headed back up (north) the highway for a raft trip on the glacier-fed Nenana River with Denali Raft Adventures. With the sun shining bright and views of the surrounding mountains in clear view, I was pumped to get on the water.

Scheduled for what is called the Canyon Run I anticipated the need of a dry suit as getting wet was a guarantee. At $1000 a piece there was a short/informal, but serious training on how to get into these dry suits. I couldn’t help feeling like I was being graded—I felt a ridiculous smile creep across my face when the guide patted me on the back and said, “Good job!” (Life’s about the small victories, right?)

With wet suits on and life vests adjusted we boarded a repurposed school bus and headed to the water. “If you enjoyed the ride, tip your guide” was hand-painted just above the rear view mirror. I certainly enjoyed the comedic tone and efficiency thus far, but wasn’t quite sure how one would nonchalantly pull bills out of a pocket now fully enclosed—tucked, zippered and gasket-ed—to keep the elements at bay.

At the water’s edge our guide performed a summary safety brief and into the raft we went. Perched at the front of the raft I was next to a father and daughter from Indiana. There was no doubt that all aboard had priceless views. Lacking a waterproof camera I was reliant on memory to capture these 360 degree views. And that wasn’t easy—there are only so many times one can describe something as “gorgeous,” “breathtaking,” “pristine,” “awe-worthy,” “unreal.” A predicament I vocalized to the group—how does one describe something as beautiful as this? To which the young girl next to me replied, “There are no words. Period.”

As we negotiated white water runs with names like “razor back” and “train wreck” and “coffee grinder” I was surprised I hadn’t yet learned our guide’s name. “I’m Bacon!” I wasn’t quite sure I heard right when he explained it. “Two-year olds can’t pronounce Jason and it just kind of stuck.” I’m glad it did. How often do you get to rip through white water in the middle of Alaska and hope that no one has to save your bacon—except for maybe, well—Bacon! Needless to say, despite the killer white water, it was only voluntarily that anyone ended up in the river.

Time passes quickly on the Nenana River and it wasn’t long before we were pulling out of the water in Healy, Alaska—a little coal-mining town just north of the Park. Back on the bus it was a short drive back to Denali Raft Adventures with amazing late summer views of the Alaska Range.

I walked through McKinley Village for a cup of coffee before heading back up the highway to Fairbanks. With a 16 ounce caramel latte firmly planted in the console I twisted up the volume dial and jammed to a little, "Nothing but a Good Time."