Few bridges feel as lonely as the one over the Yukon River on the Dalton Highway. It is a long steel truss with a wooden deck, completed in the mid-1970s to carry the trucks that built the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, and the pipeline itself runs alongside, a silver snake sliding across the river on its own supports. Fairbanks lies a long day behind, and the Arctic lies ahead. At this point the highway has already left pavement and certainty well behind.
The road here is part of a gravel highway about four hundred miles long, rough and dusty or slippery with mud depending on the weather. It was built as a haul road for the pipeline and still carries heavy trucks at all hours, which throw stones, raise dust, and take their share of the road without apology. Riders give them room and keep lights on, slow in the dust and pull over well clear when one approaches. The grades on the approach to the bridge are steep, and the deck itself can be slick when wet, so ride slowly and keep off the edges.
Beside the river there is a small camp offering fuel, basic food and rooms, which is a big deal in a country where services are separated by many hours. Fuel is not casual up here: the next dependable pumps beyond are at Coldfoot, a long way north, so top up whenever you can. Mosquitoes in summer are ferocious, and weather can swing from hot sun to cold rain in an afternoon. A dry bag, spare tubes, tools and extra water are not optional.
The Yukon itself is a huge, brown, powerful river, one of the great waterways of North America, and standing at the bridge you feel its weight. Boreal forest of black spruce and birch stretches in all directions, and the light in the long northern summer evenings is almost endless. Travel here is an adventure as much as a ride; go prepared, go slowly, and tell someone your plan.