Prudhoe Bay 2025

Into the Arctic

This trip was unlike any other. Normally we begin by studying the map, picking the best routes, and circling sights we want to see. But none of that was the point this time. When we moved to Alaska, going to Prudhoe Bay wasn’t an option — it was a matter of when. We didn’t come this far just to wonder. And who could resist the challenge of “the most dangerous road in America,” especially right after a trans-continental ride? When the weather finally broke, we found a four-day window of clear skies projected a week out. Talk time was over.

The Dalton isn’t like other roads. Once you cross into the Arctic Circle, gas, food, hotels, and even pavement fade away. Nearly 650 miles of gravel and dirt stretch between Fairbanks and Deadhorse, with civilization reduced to dots on the map. To their credit, the crews do an outstanding job keeping the highway open — we passed several working sections being improved.

Even though the Bronco gets great mileage, I knew better than to pass a gas pump. We stopped at every chance, pacing the trip over three days so we could travel in daylight and actually enjoy the sights.

We’d stood at the Dalton Highway sign many times before, but this was our first time pushing beyond. Yukon River. Coldfoot. Marion Creek Campground. The pipeline on our flank and the big rigs grinding north — this is the Haul Road. On two wheels, the Dalton is brutal. Out of the five Harleys we saw, three were broken and waiting for a tow. One group from Connecticut told us it would cost $2,500 and a three-day delay just to replace a blown tire south of Yukon River Camp. The Dalton doesn’t cut anyone slack. Marion Creek turned out to be the perfect camp. Quiet, scenic, and with a river wide enough that “creek” didn’t seem like the right word.

The next day we rolled into Deadhorse, the end of the line and the gateway to Prudhoe Bay. What we did there is for each traveler to discover on their own. There are endless videos and guides online, but for me the message is simple: get off the couch and go. Heading south, the Dalton gave us a parting gift — a double rainbow just north of Atigun Pass. The Brooks Range held the storm to the north like a fortress, a textbook rain shadow effect. Crossing the pass into clear skies on the south side felt like stepping into another world. We camped again at Marion Creek, retracing our route at a slower pace.

The following morning we fueled up in Coldfoot and grabbed lunch, running into the same Harley rider still stuck with his blown tire. He was inconsolable, and though I offered help, he had his own plans.

Each mile south felt lighter. By the time we reached the Dalton sign again, that pavement we once complained about seemed heaven-sent. We were glad we took our time — not blasting up and back, but letting the road reveal itself.

There was plenty of wildlife, natural wonder, and challenge along the way. This place is not for the novice. The Dalton looks for weakness, and that is a fact. But if you’re ready to face it, it will give you something you’ll never forget.