Homer Bound:

An Account of My Solo Travels to Homer, Alaska in a 1966 VW Westy Named Clara

September/October, 2009

Backroadbussing with Igor

Igor's business in Nikolaevsk was cut short by the fact that the person he had come all this way to do business with was absent. Not there. Oh well. He seemed thrilled by the opportunity to go "backroadbussing", and guided me toward North Fork Road, which is a loop. As he remembered it, there were spots with serious issues: Ruts, mud, and holes. However, someone had come along since the last time he was there, and gone done fixed the road! I could not hide my disappointment. No, I could not hide my relief. That's not it. I could not tell if I was disappointed or relieved; nevertheless, I enjoyed the drive down this winding backcountry road of compacted gravel with a few little bumps here and there. It was a good place to get a glimpse of interior of this end of the Kenai Peninsula. My passenger, who was by now my friend, proved a versatile and energetic conversationalist, and I presume to impart that we had a good time in each other's company.

We completed the loop of North Fork Road, emerging onto Sterling Highway. Igor had another road in mind, something that he described as "a little bumpy" that culminated in a beach with a waterfall. Nice. How could I say no to that? We sped north once again, passing through Anchor Point, and turning off onto a small driveway. This was indeed a driveway, but there was another track just off of it that led through a closely knit and dark thicket of willows. This was a little bumpy, but not too bad. A few mud puddles of unknowable depth lay in the gently-curved ruts, but they would pose no serious problem unless one was anxious to get somewhere fast. I coaxed the bus over the little rises and through the muddy water. When we came to a clearing, where the road took several paths around a small copse, Igor then told me that this is where it may be a little bumpier!

Bumpier indeed! I had to sit there for a bit, staring, wondering how I was going to play this. I could chicken out, and kick myself for the rest of my days, or I could risk getting stuck down a muddy little road, full of mud, with muddy puddles strewn hither and yon, and downhill to boot, which translates into "easier to get in than out!" My erstwhile companion was no doubt hoping to be impressed by the bus's capability since I had spoken to him plenty about my other adventures, and the kind I was hoping for. I kicked myself for leaving my come-along and shovel back at the house - I had only a rope and some tire chains. Oh well ... they would do in a pinch! I just hoped it wouldn't come to that, as installing tire chains in the mud is kind of messy. Call me lazy if you will.

Casting aside my doubts, as I have no time for those when I am doing dumb things like this, I looped around the tree, slipped a couple times, but in a fun way, then sat poised to take the plunge down the muddy ruts, a gentle but slippery slop toward the sea through an alleyway of willows and scrawny alders. Maybe this dumb stuckage oughta be caught on video, I mused, and as I did so, Igor offered to shoot. This is one of those cases where it was a whole lot more fun in real life than in pictures - moving or not. That mud was very slippy, and some of those ruts were deep enough to high-center the bus. I definitely felt it hit the bumper, and steering box, and a couple times there were significant scraping sounds (glad it was slick ooze, rather than rock!) all along the underside. Nothing major, though, and besides the passenger door opening itself at an inopportune time, and having to reach over and close it while double-clutching and fighting the steering, it was uneventful. Igor rejoined me in the bus for the last bit, and there we were, on a bluff overlooking the sea, with a chocolate-colored waterfall plunging to the beach below.

This was the most precipitous path down to a beach I had ever encountered. Rope was required, due to the incredible pitch of the trail, as well as the treacherous slick earth. Rope was provided - a knotted strand tied to the uppermost tree made it possible to descend without mishap. Once on the beach, we looked around, wished the fog and clouds were not there so as to view Iliamna and Redoubt, and then Igor hopped from a large rock over the stream to investigate a discarded backpack full of cash. I saw him there, on the other side of the creek with no way to return without getting wet (as he knew he would), and looking around, found a large straight log which, after dragging and upending over the creek, formed a nice footbridge for him. His effort wasn't worth it, as the cash-filled backpack was just one of those baby packs, and luckily, it was sans enfant. We clambered back up to the bus, me with my camera in my teeth as I used both hands for the rope, and prepared to attempt the climb up the muddy road.

Knowing full well that hell awaited in the muddy climb back to the main road, I set Igor up with the video camera, and went for it. The first puddle, the one I had hit the top of the bus against the overhanging tree, was no problem, and I managed to duck the bus under the tree. That act of "ducking" the bus under the tree ended up being a bit of a slow-motion power slide, straight towards Igor, who stoutly held his ground. His split-second judgment was correct, and I (at the last moment) swerved away and past. The momentum I had helped me quite a ways up the hill, which is good, being that it wasn't much of a hill. I dropped back again to get Igor, who really wanted to be inside the bus when all the fun was happening, and went up through the trees again. Not far from where I stopped the previous time, there lay a deep ditch across the road. This was no problem on the way down, as the bank on the downhill side was lower, and I had gravity on my side. Going up, however, was another story.

I knew I could not hit this ditch at any speed over two miles-per-hour, or I would smash the bumper up into the nose. Instead, I eased into the low spot, and as soon as I thought it prudent, which happened to be just as the bumper gently nudged the far bank, I punched it. Amazingly, the bus moved ... and kept moving! I had expected much less, but with the engine at a healthy roar, and the rear wheels spinning like mad, the bus actually oozed up and over the obstacle. Having been fully immobilized by much less, I really was totally flabbergasted.

As I've stated before, the mud in this neck of the wood was really very lubricious. I kept this in mind as we slithered up the slope, and it went fairly well until a deeper set of ruts tilted the bus so that one rear wheel was slightly in the air, thereby relinquishing it's grasp on the gooey earth, and we ... stopped ... moving. Multiple fruitless attempts to let the bus fall back and then get up the gumption and speed necessary to clamber up and over the high spot with increasing amounts of power each time were fun, but each time, the wheels just slipped so much that I was stymied. Lucky for me, I had a copilot! Igor!

Using the time-honored and trail-proven "Copilot as Ballast" unsticking technique with a gung-ho Russian expatriate hanging off the roof rack with his feet on the bumper, I tried it again. This time, it worked. Slowly at first, but then all that urge to get up and go took hold, and off we went. When I say "we" that is myself, the bus, and, unfortunately, Igor. He was SUPPOSED to jump off once I got over the bad bit, but because of the sudden increase in forward motion, he was quite unable to, and had to hang on for dear life. I didn't know he was still back there, and couldn't stop to check, much less stop. There was quite a distance I felt I needed to travel before stopping, so I kept going, plowing on through, amazed the whole time at how much traction I still had. Thanks, good copilot! He reported that it was quite a ride, and as he did, I saw a vivid gleam in his eye that told me that he was having fun. Either that or it was a bit of wet mud ...

During all this, I was afeard that I was "digging in" and making the road worse than it was. I needn't have worried, for one thing I had noticed when I had the chance to get out and look at a spot I knew that my tires were spinning was that the earth underneath the upper ooze was holding firm, and the tires were wailing away but with no effect whatsoever on the contours below. Interesting. What IS this stuff?

The bus was stopped - resting, if you will, at the flat just atop the rise. Before us lay the initial slippery mess we'd come in on, but I paid it no mind. Igor and I talked for a bit about this and that, and he told me he loved "the bus." Nice. A bit of fun for everyone then! A couple and their small child were making their way up from the beach on the path we had just conquered, and offered us congratulations. I'm not so sure they were walking on the beach in a secluded spot to get treated to roaring engines and screaming tires, but they seemed a little amused by it anyway. Sorry 'bout that!

The last challenge remained, and we mounted up, figuring it for an easy ride. Not so! As I approached, I wondered aloud how I got over it in the first place, and as a result was too damn timid. We got through most of it, but got hung up again on a weird little lopsided bump and puddle that was framed by a tree on one side and a pile of deadwood on the other - I didn't want to slip up and slide the bus into either of these! There were numerous sticks and bits of old carpet in the mud too. Not a good sign, indicating that others had to resort to various methods of getting unstuck in this spot.

So, since we were balanced on two wheels, Igor got assigned once again to the back bumper, and with some jostling, weight-shifting and revving, got over this last bit of muck. I'm not really sure how he stayed attached back there with the bus whipping around so, but I'm glad he didn't let go! The bus slid around a bit, and then, with the passenger door popping opening once more for good measure, we sprang clear of the muck. Too bad it looks so lame in the pictures! It really was a good, healthy challenge, and a lot of fun! As I write this, in the safety of my yurt, with retrospect as my shield, I think maybe I should have run it twice to make sure I got all the good pictures and video. Aw, shucks. Maybe next time!

We made it back out to the road without further mishap, and headed back to Homer. Igor had me drop him off at his car, where he had parked it prior to hitching a ride. We saw an old Willys cruiser thing, and wondered at it, and then bid each other farewell for now. This was one time I am very glad to have picked up a hitchhiker! So there you have it - the story of an afternoon backroadbussing with Igor.

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Gene Cornelius
mizamook@geemail dot com


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