The Longest Road in the World: Our Epic Journey Begins

It's the longest road in the world. Stretching from the arctic shores of Alaska to the southernmost tip of Argentina, it spans two continents and every biome on planet earth. You find us at the very start, where the frigid waters of the arctic ocean lap against the northernmost edge of North America. And who are we? Just a pair of artists with a crazy idea. To traverse all of the Americas in our home and studio on wheels. It took five years just to get here and that is a story unto itself. Now, finally, Alaska to Argentina begins. And we very quickly find out it won't always be a dance in the rain. The adventure begins. Come with us. Experience the land, the people, and the stories of the Americas. Starting here. Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. Where the Pan American Highway begins and the site of North America's largest oil field. Here pulses the heartbeat of Alaska's economy, though it hasn't been without controversy. Since 1977, the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay have produced over 18.5 billion barrels of black gold. So important are these oil fields to national security that access is tightly controlled. The only way for us to pass through to reach the ocean is through a background check and shuttle service. Once through security, the oil fields stretch as far as the eye can see. Nearly 9,000 feet below us, a 250 million-year-old layer of porous sandstone is soaked with oil and gas like a sponge. The layer is folded and overlaid by impermeable shale. And as the hydrocarbons move upward through the sandstone, they are trapped, unable to pass through the overlying shale. This creates a reservoir that, if located, can be tapped. That is why petroleum is called a fossil fuel. It is ancient, carbon-based organic material stored within the crust, a key mechanism of Earth's carbon cycle. We can't imagine a better way to kick off this journey than a dip in the Arctic Ocean, an act we intend to repeat when we reach the end of the Pan-American Highway in Ushuaia, Argentina. What a way to start a journey to Argentina, isn't it? From here, it is 1,200 miles to the geographic North Pole, which, unlike the South Pole, has no land. Just the polar ice cap, a floating sheet of ice that grows in the winter and shrinks in the summer. The ice comes all the way to this shoreline in the winter, but every summer it moves farther and farther away. NASA has been observing the ice cap since 1979, and the data shows that its annual minimum is shrinking by 12.2% per decade. Scientific consensus connects this to our impact on the carbon cycle, the pressing issue of our time. If you had asked us five years ago where we would be right now, we would have said Argentina. If only we had known where our path would actually lead us. The car is under the bus. This one's got some rust. Here's a little preview of what's to come. I'm not terrified at all. All right, you got a bus? You got a home? It's 2018, and we just got the bus. We think it will take three months to turn it from this... to this. We are so naive. It takes a year. One year of scraping, sanding, hammering, and sweating it out in the South Florida heat. But we're not alone. Friends come from across the country and even across the world to pitch in. And family is there with us every day after work, helping turn this dream into a reality. Then we hit the road in fall 2019, starting from the southernmost point in the USA with one destination in mind, Alaska. Too late in the season to make it that year, we say, that's okay, we'll just go to Alaska in spring 2020. The breaking news, stay at home. That is the order tonight as the coronavirus pandemic spreads. Every part of the United Kingdom is now in lockdown. Victoria will be in lockdown within the next 48 hours. The federal government revealed plans yesterday to shut down the U.S.-Canada border to non-essential travel. Unable to get to Alaska, we spend the next two years in the lower 48 and even do a brief stint in Baja, Mexico. We paint 18 community murals and teach 11 songwriting workshops, keeping true to our goal of fostering community arts throughout the journey. Every time we stop in a community, we connect on a deeper level. We see that even in polarizing times, we are more alike than we are different. And we suspect that that observation will hold true all the way to Argentina. Then the Canadian border opens and like the bullet out of a gun, we are off. We spend an incredible summer in Canada, completing our largest mural to date. Then, in a mad dash to beat the first snow, we blaze our way across Canada, determined to reach that elusive destination out of reach for so long, Alaska. As far as we're concerned, it's Alaska or bust, even if that means arriving just in time for winter. We fall in love with the Alaskan winter, so deeply that our five-month visit turns into two years. Two years of adventure, growth, and learning across the last frontier. We cap it all off with the biggest challenge yet, attempting the formidable Dalton Highway in our bus, venturing deep into the remote Alaskan Arctic so that we can make it here to the Arctic Ocean and the start of the Pan American Highway. It's been a hell of a ride to get here. If we've learned anything, it's that we truly have no idea what the journey ahead has in store. And that is exciting. In the summer, the coastal plain of the Arctic bursts with life. 24-hour daylight fuels a flurry of activity before the dark returns. This is 2 a.m., a perpetual twilight that lingers as the sun just skirts the horizon. All right, so we got dinner. It's the eve of our drive south, but we're not leaving without taking you to explore the unique place that is Deadhorse, Alaska. Deadhorse, Alaska is not a town. It is an industrial camp complex here and only here to support oil field operations. It is a unique place where industry and nature collide. It's mid-July, so the caribou are still here on the coastal plain. In a few short weeks, they will begin their migration to the Brooks Range, 80 miles to the south. Migratory birds are also still here. The newest generation growing quickly in preparation for the journey south before this place transforms into a frozen and windswept no-man's land. Everything here is built for that harsh reality, and we are curious to enter some of these Arctic buildings to see what it's like inside. This is Brooks Camp, one of many buildings built to house workers and the occasional visitor like our new friend Priyanka. Priyanka has invited us to join her for dinner, which is surprisingly decadent given our remote location. The red beans with smoked sausage. Look at this food. Thank you Priyanka for bringing us here. Yes, thank you for joining me. This is quite an experience. There is a joy in the unplanned happenstance crossing of paths. An author, activist, and public health professional, Priyanka has also been living the nomad life for years now. Here we meet at the edge of the continent, a brief intersection of two journeys. And I tried to plan everything and then I realized like that was a personal mistake, like you can't try to plan. When workers come to Prudhoe Bay for their multi-week shifts, they live in buildings like this one. They send and receive mail from the Prudhoe Bay post office and they shop at the only general store for miles and miles and miles. Now we took our time coming up the Dalton, stopping off to film and edit an episode about our adventure on the National Geographic Seabird. Long story short, we burned through our snack food a long time ago. What do you think? Sure. Sweet comforts of life. Better stay away from that aisle. Candy. The general store is what one would expect. Snacks, gifts, and extra provisions for workers and the Dalton truckers. It certainly hit the spot for us and now with our goodies restocked, it's time to go because while it might not look it, it's actually getting pretty late. Hit the road. And so our journey begins. With the sea behind us, we drive headlong across the treeless plains of the Arctic. We will cross over Alaska's northernmost mountain range, pass the tree line, and re-enter the wild boreal forest. Our aim is the US-Canada border. Little do we know, the road ahead has different plans. To our west stretches the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, carrying all that oil from Prudhoe Bay to the port of Valdez, 800 miles away. From here to Argentina, there is so much to take in, so much to learn. About the land, about our earth, about the cultures and ways of its people. We go with openness and curiosity, and we're glad you're with us. Today's drive ends right at the cusp, where the flat coastal plain meets a long gentle climb to the mountains beyond. If only we knew our lucky streak of fair weather and zero-engine drama is about to come to a close. So it's been raining and now kind of sleeting and we lost power. The weather turned. A chilling fog has enveloped us for days with occasional freezing rain. Snow is forecast in Deadhorse today. We've been waiting for a sunny day to drive, but now with dwindling food, fuel and water, there's nothing for it. It's time to go. Our goal today is the small settlement of Coldfoot, on the other side of Alaska's formidable Brooks Range. Between here and there is the North Slope, a vast expanse of arctic tundra that climbs ever so gently to the feet of the Brooks Range. It's here on the North Slope that we get our first hint of trouble. This stuff is just like super loose. So we're smelling a like a little bit of like struggling engine smell and the temp is a little high. We keep an eye on the temperature gauge, hoping this doesn't signal problems to come. Suddenly we see dark shapes and can't believe it. Not everyone who drives this road gets to see them, and with millions of acres to roam, it's amazing to encounter them right off the road. Only about 4,000 muskoxen live in Alaska. Unlike the birds and the caribou, they do not migrate seasonally. Instead, they stay put, perfectly adapted to survive this place when it becomes uninhabitable for so many other creatures. We've reached the edge of the Brooks Range, great arctic wall of Alaska's north. These ancient peaks form the boundary between the treeless arctic and the boreal forest to the south. This is a world of wild extremes where only the hardiest of ground-hugging plants can grow. They creep up the mountain sides but quickly give way to bare rock, the layered remnants of an ancient seabed thrust into the sky. The industrial traffic to and from Prudhoe Bay is constant. This road owes its existence to the oil fields, and that fact is never out of sight or mind up here. The constant presence of the pipeline ensures it. There is only one road through the Brooks Range, and we're on it. The Dalton Highway finds the path of least resistance, snaking through a broad glacial valley edging closer to Alaska's highest mountain pass. We made it to the summit. All right, we made it. Safe and sound. I was nothing for Bobby. We come out on the other side, and very quickly cross one of the most significant ecological boundaries on Earth. Think of where we just were, look at where we are now, and see if you can spot the key difference. The answer is trees. We are still in the Brooks Range, but now there are trees. The Arctic tree line marks the threshold at which conditions are simply too harsh for trees to grow. We just crossed over it, and now find ourselves within the great boreal forest of the north. We are nearing the southern edge of the range. We know this because an unmistakable landmark rises majestically in the distance. Sukupak Mountain towers above the valley floor, a bare-faced monolith of metamorphosed limestone. Places like this can only leave one humbled and in complete awe of our planet. Limestone is sedimentary rock made of calcium carbonate, and it forms in the oceans. The formation of limestone is a key way carbon moves from the atmosphere to the crust. The oceans, the atmosphere, the crust, and even life itself all play a role in the carbon cycle, which is just as important as Earth's water and nitrogen cycles. Perhaps there is some symbolism in this moment. The pipeline, a limestone giant, and our bus within the frame together. In one symbolic scene, we see a display of a planetary process, and also our involvement in it. Pulling vast amounts of carbon from one part of the system to another in order to power our lives. We have arrived safe and sound in Coldfoot, Alaska, the northernmost truck stop in the world. In the frigid dark of winter, this spot must be a welcome sanctuary for the Dalton's truckers. For us, it's a pit stop to have a hot meal and then leave our little mark. Today's goal is to reach the Yukon River 120 miles away. The bus handled so well on Adigan Pass that we think we are free and clear. After all, this section of road caused us no problems on the way up. But it was dry then. Suddenly, the game changes. The hills on this stretch of the Dalton are notorious. Now slick with mud, the bus starts to struggle and that hot engine smell returns. The thing is, a tow out here costs thousands and thousands of dollars. So the one thing you want to avoid at all costs is a breakdown or sliding off the road. Which, of course, is exactly what happens next. Thank you. All right, thank you. Appreciate it. We moved over for a wide load and the pull-off was just too soft in mud. We slid out and now, well... Here's to hoping he can pull us out. Because like he said, if we continue to slide further into the ditch, then there's nothing he can do and we'll have to call a tow. All the way out here, 200 miles out. We can't tell you how many times we heard to watch out for truckers on the Dalton. That they won't slow down for you, won't share the road, and are generally annoyed by the presence of non-commercial traffic. For the record, that wasn't our experience at all. With six wheels back on the road, we creep our way to camp, hoping that that was it. The only bit of drama between here and the border. If only. We've noticed a concerning wobble in the engine fan. And the ABS light has been on since the incident yesterday. Either could mean trouble, but there's no way to know until we get to a shop in Fairbanks, 135 miles away. Our rainbow bus is unrecognizable. But we can't help feeling proud of this old girl. She was a city bus from Jacksonville, Florida. And now here she is, holding her own at the top of the world. Today, we shoot for Fairbanks. It's 55 miles to the end of the Dalton Highway, and then another 80 miles after that to reach the city. We're placing all our bets in this old bus and hoping she can make it. This is the day we cross the mighty Yukon, one of the longest rivers in North America. The Yukon is a tremendously important river and rich in a history that we'll explore in episodes to come. For now, we are carried over its powerful waters alongside the pipeline, an ever-present companion on this road. Designed to protect the permafrost and meticulously maintained, the pipeline's environmental impact has been remarkably low over its lifetime. Unfortunately, not every link in this energy chain can say the same. The tanker Exxon Valdez, gouged by a reef, more than eight and a half million gallons, poured into Prince William Sound. The supertanker bound for Long Beach, California, ran aground about 22 miles south of Valdez. The captain was trying to avoid large chunks of ice. State officials in Alaska have made an accounting of what's happened to the spill, now covering an area of over 3,000 square miles. Everything was coated with this thick coat of crude, very toxic, very aromatic crude oil. No one was prepared to handle what's been described as one of the worst environmental disasters in U.S. history. Since then, tanker design and safety procedures have doubled down, and then some. Still, the Exxon Valdez spill is a traumatic episode in Alaska's history and a sobering reminder of the risks and responsibility we shoulder when choosing how we power our world. Because when you stop, the world keeps shaking And I want to be apart Then I heard it in the man, I saw it in the evening Cause it hurts whenever I stay It's there by the way But it hurts even more when I go I'm screaming out We're a hundred miles from Fairbanks, and at this point, our nerves are shot. Something's not right. The uphill struggle and overheating feels like it's just getting worse. After five years driving this bus, we know what she can do. We know how she sounds, how she pulls on a hill, and this, this doesn't feel normal. We feel a huge sense of triumph and hope when we reach the Dalton Highway sign. Our bus made it all the way up and all the way down the Dalton. No popped tires, an intact windshield, and no breakdowns. It's almost as if she was holding out as long as she could on the whole no breakdowns thing. Because after finishing the Dalton, 43 miles from Fairbanks, it happens. Okay, so this happened, we're coming from a bad noise. So here's our issue, look at this. It's not going to tighten more than that. But it's not, it's not wobbling anymore. Yeah, yeah, that's good. So Cora, let's get it, let's turn it on. But be ready to shut it off if we hear some noise. It started smoking. It started smoking? Yeah. Oh, the belt wasn't moving or what? Yeah, the fan is supposed to go, but it wasn't turning. A bearing or something is broken inside here. Even if I had the parts, I don't have the tools to fix this. This is a very big bolt right here, I don't have a wrench big enough for this. My name is Cora. I'm at mile 43 of the Elliott Highway and I am in a 29,000 pound converted school bus that broke down. And I'm wondering if you guys have any rigs for you to come help get us to Fairbanks. Okay, let me make a call. Oh my gosh, I appreciate you. I'll get right back to you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And now we wait. We're in such an unsafe spot that the tow is coming tonight. They didn't have to, but when the driver heard our exact coordinates, he insisted on coming out to get us. He was on his way home for the night and now his late night just got much, much later. But there's an ethos that runs deep in Alaska, to look out for each other. So here we are getting rescued off the road in the middle of the night. There are so many good people out there in the world. This is not how we imagined arriving in Fairbanks, Alaska. Not quite the triumphant return we envisioned. We'll be stuck here for a while as the shop waits on parts. But when life throws you a curveball, you take a look around and try to appreciate where life stuck you. And in our case, it stuck us in Alaska's second largest and only major city located in the interior. This community has a story and pieces of that story are scattered across town if you know where to look. It starts at a time when now extinct animals roamed the land. Ice age creatures like woolly mammoth and the step bison made their way here when lower sea levels revealed the land bridge between Asia and North America. One prominent theory is that humans arrived in the Americas via the same land bridge. Ancestors of all indigenous peoples of North and South America, including the first Alaskans. It was the nomadic Athabascans that thrived in the interior of Alaska and the area around modern Fairbanks has evidence of seasonal hunting and fishing camps. Then in the 1800s, something happened in this part of the world that dramatically changed its face forever. Gold. First discovered to the east, it brought a flood of miners and business folk over mountain passes and up the region's rivers and paddle powered ships called stern wheelers. One businessman planned to open a supply store here in Tantacross, but shallow waters forced him to unload his inventory here on a patch of uninhabited riverbank. He lucked out because not long after gold was found nearby and he became the primary supplier for a booming gold rush town. In 1903, the town was incorporated and given the name Fairbanks. The gold rush sparked the growth of other towns along the rivers leading to Fairbanks. Towns like Banana became waypoints and crucial supply stops for those traveling the route. Then the railroad arrived and the game changed again. Completed in 1923, the 470 mile railway connected the seaport of Seward to Fairbanks, firmly cementing Fairbanks' role as Alaska's stronghold in the north. Today, it maintains that role. A diverse community of 32,000, Fairbanks serves as the economic and cultural seat of the interior. Its economy centers on mining, the military, higher education, government services, tourism, and of course supplying Prudhoe Bay. It is also a center for art and culture. One of our favorite things to do in a new city is hunt for murals. Here, one immediately picks up on the different facets of this community and a common thread, a love for the land, living close to it, and living from it. It's hard to walk through this modern city and imagine a time when it was a small settlement of old west style storefronts and thick log trapper cabins. Fortunately, many historic buildings from the region were gathered together in one spot to preserve and give them a new life. It wasn't just cabins brought here to Pioneer Park. Here we also find machinery from the time when gold mining was the lifeblood of the city's economy. Reproductions of earthen homes showing different types of structural engineering by Alaska's first peoples. The SS Nenana, a sternwheeler from the time when rivers were the super highways of the day. And a final nod to the Alaska Railroad and its transformational effect not only on the interior, but all of South Central Alaska. Transportation is an ongoing theme here in Fairbanks, but nothing quite prepares you for how this iconic attraction celebrates the subject. Did you know that Fairbanks, Alaska is home to one of the most extensive and precious collections of antique cars in the world? Starting from the earliest models to roaring pre-war beauties, this place is incredible. They even have Alaska's first car. In the market for an electric vehicle, this Model C is one of only two Argos left in the world, a stylish electric vehicle developed in 1913. And now get this, all but three of the vehicles in this entire collection still run. In winter, the city transforms into a winter wonderland. Far from the tempering effect of the ocean, the interior gets cold. So cold that Fairbanks can host a unique type event only put on by a few cities around the world. Sculptures, intricate, detailed, and painstakingly crafted out of pure ice. From ice sculptures to swimming in steaming hot springs at 20 below, this region in winter is, in our opinion, in its most stunning form. If you're skeptical, we just might convince you in episode four of season one. But now it's back to the present and our own motor vehicle whose parts just arrived. It turns out it was the fan bearing that went, and the ABS sensor just got busted when our wheels fought and lost to a half a foot of mud. Mud that now needs to go. Bobby is out of the shop, fixed up, and crazy dirty. So we're gonna give her a bath. We both have been looking forward to this moment for a while. It's the longest road in the world. We've just begun and already it has given us adventure and more than one unexpected twist. Now in a twist of our own, we deviate from the Pan American Highway to take you on a slightly different route south. We will do this often throughout the journey, detouring away and then coming back, always with the same end goal of Ushuaia, Argentina. If we stray from the path, it will always be for a good reason. And the place we're taking you next is a good reason. Join us as we venture next to a part of the world only accessible for a brief window of time. A place so aptly named, it will take your breath away. Jump aboard as we take you to experience the next step of the journey. Next time on Art, We There Yet.