I had pictured our time in Seward—sunny days, skies filled with mountain peaks and sea birds, smells of ocean water and salmon cooking. Instead, it rained.
Patrick dropped us off at Amy and Kat's place in Seward. Both of them were working at the Salmon Sisters store in town, so Brooke and I sat on their couch staring at the view of foggy forested mountains. Eventually Amy got home, she had gone to college with Brooke and offered us a place to stay when she heard about the trip on Instagram a few months back. She had questions for us, like what we were doing in Seward, where we were planning to bike, who we were planning to meet with. Brooke and I hadn't practiced our elevator pitch for the project yet, and Amy was patient with us as we tried out versions of what the heck we were planning to do.
That night Brooke and I sat on a comfy air mattress chatting with Kat and Amy in their beautiful cozy home, safe from the rain. Kat explained the different types of fishing that people use around Seward. As an observer, she had worked for the government ensuring that fishing boats followed regulations. She drew us a picture that captured each fishing method simplistically. It felt like we were all old friends. I got the sensation I knew I'd have in Seward, a feeling of not wanting to leave. It's a tough feeling to deal with on a bike tour, especially at the very beginning. Biking away from a comfortable place into unknown and uncomfortable territory is like slowly pulling off a bandaid. For me, it's one of the hardest parts of traveling by bike. Fortunately we had a few days of sightseeing before we'd make our way north.
The next morning we woke up extra early to get to our boat tour. A friend, Melissa, had gotten us a great deal, and we were cautiously excited about a nine-hour boat ride on open seas. We took the dramamine and prepared ourselves for what was sure to be a day full of beautiful sights and upset stomachs.
Seward sits ocean side on Resurrection Bay. The town is a salmon fishing hub and tourist destination all at once. We would come to learn that the people of Seward find their identity, not only in industry, but in the glaciers that make up the landscape. On one of the main streets in town, we came across a mural titled "Remembering Exit Glacier." It showed a community celebration at the foot of the glacier as it appeared before receding to its current position. The glaciers are disappearing, that's a scientific fact, but what happens to a community of people whose identity is tied to a thing that will melt away?
In between naps on the boat, Brooke and I walked out into the mist and onto the deck of the boat to see sea otters, puffins, and seals. We cheered with the other passengers as humpback whales came up for air, hoping for the coveted "whale tale" sighting. The ride out to Northwestern Glacier was bumpy, but as the blue ice peaked out from the foggy air, it became clear why people had opted for the longest tour available. The glacier is massive, I know I'm supposed to say how shockingly small it is now that climate change has sped up the melting process, but it really is big.
As the crew took photos for everyone on board, hoping to document the time that they got to see the disappearing glaciers before it was too late, we heard loud cracking. The passengers all turned to see chunks of ice calve off of the glacier hitting the sea and causing waves to ripple towards our boat. As the calving waves pushed our boat further away from the glacier, rocking seals atop icebergs along with it, more ice began to crack off. The noise was unbelievably loud against the dense sea air. Here was the very thing we came to see, disappearing loudly.
On the boat they played a slide show of photos of the glaciers as they have receded through the years. The boat crew told us stories about parts of the glacier that are no more. No one mentions climate change. An interested passenger pulled crew member Jena aside to ask more. She grabbed her cell phone. In the seven years she has worked on the boat she has taken a photo of the receding glaciers every day. After she finished talking with the other curious passengers, we asked if she'd share more with us. She told us that three years ago the ocean temperature rose by 16 degrees Fahrenheit. The combination of ocean acidification and warming waters has put stress on sea life all the way up and down the food chain. “I know we used to see whales jump out of the water every day. I know we don’t see that anymore,” Jena said. “My glacier is melting away everyday. Don’t tell me that climate change doesn’t exist.”
We got off the boat, the ground slowly beginning to feel sturdy, and headed to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. Before traveling to Alaska, everyone will inform you that the food is expensive. It's true, most of the food ranges moderately expensive to exorbitant. At this particular Seward Safeway, the food was mostly moderately expensive, except for the cherries. We picked up a bag to replace the cherries we had munched on at Kat and Amy's the night before. $13.00 later we had a soul crushingly expensive bag of pretty good Ranier Cherries. Ouch.
The next day we ventured to Exit Glacier. A couple miles out we began to pass signs displaying years as far back as 1889. The massive sheet of ice is surrounded by a rain forest, with a large river now flowing from its tongue. We took the hike to the bottom of the glacier, passing more year markers. As we got closer, with no sight of the glacier, we began to see years we remembered. I passed the year my dad was born, and there was still no sign of a glacier. I'm surrounded by forest, creeks run under us as we keep walking. When we made it to the 2005 sign, we could finally see the glacier, still far away from where we stood. In 2005, I was in 6th grade. In our life time this massive body of ice might cease to exist.
In the visitors center we approached Bill Kane. He has been a park ranger at Exit for 25 years. We asked Bill about his own observations of the receding glacier and things got personal. "It's gut wrenching," he told us. Jokingly he questioned, "Will we rename the national parks once the glaciers are gone?" He spoke with anger about how quickly the glacier he loves is disappearing, like there is someone specific to blame. Bill pointed out that most people notice how far the glacier has receded in length, but that its actually much worse when you consider how much the glacier has shrunk in width and height. He has also noticed dramatic changes in temperatures. He shared that every October he runs in the Halloween zombie race. It used to always snow on race day. Now he runs the race in shorts.
Someone I follow on Instagram recently posted "bike-packing is about managing straps and expectations." This is perhaps most true on the first day of a bike tour. As part of the Lael Rides Alaska Women's Scholarship we received bike-packing bags from Revelate Designs. These bags strap onto the bike frame, seat, and handlebars to allow a biker to carry gear without heavy panniers on a bike rack. They are lightweight, durable, and ingenious, but they are also hard to figure out. Weeks later we would pack our bags quickly and efficiently, learning tricks and memorizing where each item of gear would live. But on the first day, we shoved and refolded and shifted gear multiple times before getting it to all fit into bags. Then we attempted to strap the bags onto our small bikes, weaving layers of Velcro and cords until everything seemed to stay in place.
When the straps were finally in place, it was time to manage our expectations. The first pedal strokes of every bike tour are met with self doubt. I began to wonder how we could possibly ride our bikes 1,000 miles across a state we knew little about. The feeling of leaving Seward, a place I felt comfortable in, for an unknown future added to my reservations. Fortunately, our friend Cali was able to join us on the ride from Seward to Anchorage. Cali has a way of lightening the mood, and so my doubt and fear were quickly replaced by laughter and a sense of just how wild it was that three friends from arid Utah were biking across Alaska in the pouring rain.
We had planned to bike about 65 miles, but a late start, bag straps, and weak legs meant that by mile 40 it was time for dinner. We deliberated and the consensus was that stopping early would make a full day of riding to Anchorage the following day more enjoyable. At camp, we started the process of making dinner for the first time. With the stove lit and our Good to Go Pad-Thai re-hydrating, we stood in the cold rain laughing at the absurdity of our current situation. Here we were, Brooke and I joined by our friend, thousands of miles away from home, on an adventure of a lifetime supported by wonderful friends, family, and companies. And this was just week one.
We woke up the next day to find that the floor of our tent had filled with water, we had failed to set the fly up properly the night before. Pulling ourselves out of our now wet sleeping bags and into the rain was a chore. Packing our bags and strapping them onto the bikes seemed to take hours. I was beginning to get nervous about finishing the 75 miles we had to ride that day. When we finally got on our bikes, we soon realized how uncomfortable we would be for the next 8-10 hours of riding. Our shoes quickly got wet. Even with plastic bags on our feet, we still had to change socks midway through the ride. We slipped our hands into bike gloves and then dish washing gloves in hopes of keeping some feeling in our fingers. The shoulder of the highway was wide enough, but steep drop offs and bad visibility paired with wet climbs left me screaming to myself "you are going to make it!" And at one of the more terrifying stretches of wet road, I saw a car pull of the highway and park near Brooke just ahead. A women got out of the car, and as I got closer I realized it was Kat holding a brownie! She had saved us with a sweet treat at just the right moment.
About 50 miles into the day we finally emerged out of the mountains into a flat section of road nestled into the bottom of a fjord. The rain let up and we began to pick up speed. We decided to take a break in Girdwood before making a final push to Anchorage. There we could eat hot food that had not been previously dehydrated. When we arrived at our pizza destination, a guy approached us to ask where we were heading on our bikes. We told him we had come from Seward in route to Deadhorse on the Arctic Ocean.
He responded "Wow, you are brave."
We retorted "Or stupid!"
"No, brave." he said and got back into his car.
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