We pedaled off into the gloom, facing a 4-mile climb and rain spitting in our faces. The temperature hovered in the forties, while fog shrouded the peaks of surrounding mountains, leaving a slight gap before mist obscured sections further down the slopes. It was August. At home in Virginia, there was a heat wave. The dog days. While it was nice to be dodging temperatures in the nineties, I never expected cycling in Alaska to be this cold and rainy in what was essentially still very much summer.

Just not in Alaska.

Tourists, we learned, were pretty much gone by the last week of August.  Many of the places we were visiting would be closing up shop for the season within a couple of weeks. In fact, as we unloaded from the vans in the parking lot serving the Worthington Glacier, there wasn’t another parked car in sight. Other tourists had looked at annual weather trends and planned better. 

It turns out the rain was just as predictable as the temperature. “August is Alaska’s rainiest month,” said Lucy one of the guides from Backroads, the outfitter that would take us not just cycling, but hiking, sea kayaking, and glacier walking during our week in the nation’s largest state.  “More than twice the size of Texas,” we heard time and again.

Cycling Alaska in the rain

Back to that climb. It wasn’t all that bad. I’ve pedaled many, many steeper climbs. Just not directly after getting out of a warm van, donning three layers of clothes, and setting off into 40-50 some-odd miles of unknown territory. It was a day where I would not have considered riding my bike had I not paid for the privilege, and flown across a continent to get there.

Making matters worse, at least to me – the fact that I was the slowest in our group of four, meaning I was off the back pretty quickly, giving me plenty of time to contemplate, the aforementioned clouds, cold and rain.

It’s been a few weeks, but while I’m complaining, let me also say that I mistakenly assumed that lunch would be indoors, instead of a picnic pavilion. But no. We were right out there eating sandwiches and finger food in the wind.

Glad I got that off my chest. I’m feeling better already.

How different a few months can be. In July I rode the Erie Canal trail some 400 miles, and all we complained about was the heat!

Now to the good stuff

After lunch, we started with an honest-to-goodness eight-mile downhill. And not an east coast downhill full of twists and turns. This was a wide-open Alaska downhill that scarcely bent left or right.

I just grinned, got into a tuck, and let it rip. And rip. And rip.

No longer off the back, I sat up and waited for my wife Mary, and friends Karen and Greg to roll into view. Ahead was a massive hillside with waterfalls and rivulets cascading through the greenery. It turned out to be the pre-game show.

Cycling into Valdez, Alaska through Keystone Canyon.

About 16 miles into the ride, the mountains became steeper and rose nearly straight up from the sides of Richardson Highway. We were entering Keystone Canyon, home to two major waterfalls, Horsetail and Bridal Veil — and many smaller falls that twist like tendrils down the sides of the surrounding peaks.

We had been told the outing would feature some waterfalls, just not these jaw-droppers that deposited their frosty H2O nearly at our feet. They were absolutely amazing.

If you doubted for a minute that discovery on a bicycle differs from in a car or bus, take this as exhibit A in favor of the bike. Consider that It’s cold. It’s raining. Your heart is pumping from an exhilarating descent, you come around a corner and maybe you hear the noise first. And then, there are the falls. Water cascading hundreds of feet, and you just stare in wonder, with rain getting in your eyes as your head tilts to see the origin of the falls. The sensory overload creating an experience that wouldn’t have tracked had I arrived in a warm, dry car.

Next came the wildlife, Cycling in Alaska’s great surprise

Our trek into Valdez involved a ten-mile diversion to a salmon hatchery in Solomon Gulch, itself home to a massive waterfall. Amazingly, this time the wildlife upstaged the falling water.

The five-mile side trip took us along an area where the Lowe River entered Prince William Sound. Then, shortly after turning onto the road that paralleled the river, we began to notice the smell of dead fish. Notice is not a strong enough word. It stunk.

I also began seeing more seagulls than I had ever seen. Not just flocks of seagulls, but swarms. We saw the reason a bit further: the outgoing tide left thousands of dead salmon.

In less than half a mile I spotted the heads of some mammals in the water. I thought they were sea otters, but they turned out to be harbor seals. Then a larger animal surfaced near the shore. After some speculation, we decided it was a sea lion.

And now the main attraction

We got the proof soon enough. As we arrived at the fish hatchery, everything multiplied. More seagulls. More salmon – this time alive, and dozens of sea lions shoulder-to-shoulder in the current enjoying seafood dinners as fast as they could dip their heads in the water.

The salmon swim upstream here to spawn. The hatchery takes them in through a fish ladder, where workers strip the eggs, and milt. Eventually, they raise fingerlings which will be released to support commercial and sport fishing.

“The facility is permitted to incubate, rear and release 270 million pink salmon, and 2 million Coho salmon annually. This production capacity provides for an impressive release of 250 million pink salmon fry and 1.8 million Coho salmon smolts each year.” ValdezAlaska.org

I’m a fish guy, but the sea lions were way more interesting than the salmon, which forced themselves into the narrow channel to the point they were stacked like cordwood. Here were these Stellar Sea Lions which can get as big as 11 feet long and 2,500 pounds frolicking in the shallow water and eating to their heart’s content.

Cycling in Alaska can cause sensory overload

The rain and cold didn’t detract from the experience. It added to it. The sound of the gulls, the rush of the current, and the smell of the fish. Add in the barks and growls of the sea lions — and the fact that there few humans there. There were some cars and RVs in the parking lot, but missing were the lines of sightseers I would have expected. We walked up to the chain link fence separating us from the show, and that was it. There was no competition for this once-in-a-lifetime view.

We watched the show and took in the scenery as long as we could. But, we were wet and still about 12 miles from our destination in Valdez. It was time to get warm. On the way out, just to put a cherry on the day, we spotted a small black bear near the highway. It too, was eating a salmon.

We had arrived by bike, taking in the stench, sounds, and wonder of the moment. This was Alaska on its terms, cold, stark, and yet teeming with life like few other places anywhere. In the lower forty eight it’s hard to imagine a ride with either the waterfalls or the hatchery.

And we had seen both.

Want to see more cycling adventures?

I hope you’ve enjoyed hearing about my bicycle travels and adventures. I also have a YouTube Channel that shows you more than I can even explain in words! Click here to watch my video of the entire week in Alaska on the Biking 4 Boomers YouTube Channel. This is where I share my adventures, like my 400-mile ride along the Erie Canal from Buffalo to Albany, NY. Or what it was like to rent a bike and randomly head off in search of the scenery in Cleveland. Maybe gravel is your thing, so you might enjoy my look at some of the most gorgeous roads one can find near Washington, D.C. And There’s always mountain biking Boomer-style in Hurricane, Utah.