1,000 Miles Across Alaska! 1975 Honda CT90 vs. 2021 Trail 125 | Common Tread XP

Today we are looking at the state of Alaska. The story of this state is as big as the land itself. One-fifth the size of the lower 48th, Alaska truly is the last frontier. Being so large and rugged, aircraft are often relied upon for transportation. For motorcyclists, however, the rugged, remote, and vast terrain makes Alaska a bucket list destination. But in order to attempt riding across this state, you need a machine built for the rough and tumble. Like what's in this crate, for example. 475 pounds of adventure machine with a history of crossing continents and carrying nations. Wait a minute. What the f*** are those? ♪♪♪ This, dear friends, is a 1975 Honda CT90. It's also known as the Trail 90. And this beautiful motorcycle over here is the modern equivalent. This is Honda's new Trail 125. And that is the southern coast of Alaska. We are in Anchorage. And our aim is to ride these tiny, adventurous machines deep into the Arctic Circle and eventually to the northernmost point of the United States. Now, you geography nerds will be thinking there's no road that goes to the northernmost point. But don't you worry. We have got a plan for that. First step, however, is we need to get to Prudhoe Bay. And that entails riding over 850 miles along the Dalton Highway, which is famous as one of the world's most desolate and dangerous roads. If that weren't bad enough, our pathologically sadistic producer has banned us from the snack bin in the crew truck. Which means we are on our own for camping, food, water, and fixing either one of these machines if either one of them breaks, whichever one it is. What is that supposed to mean? This thing's just broken in. He's still got a warranty. Look, between your mechanical ability and Honda's engineering, I'm sure you'll be totally fine. The point is, we're going to ride these motorcycles all the way to the top of Alaska. Our original plan was to ride two of the new Trail 125s on this journey. But when Airy found out their top speed is more than 55 miles per hour, he decided the 125 was too big and fast. Instead, he found a deal on this old CT90 and figured a top speed of around 45 miles an hour would be safer. Plus, it might break, and Airy loves fixing stuff. I thought we had enough potential problems. Bear attack deterrent. What it should probably say is what you're thinking when you're using it, which is, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Hopefully I don't need to use this. In fact, I don't know that I've ever been more excited to not use something that's tucked into my backpack than bear spray. I've got a tourniquet in the medical kit. I think I'm less excited to use that. Yeah. Worst case scenario, they're related. Sounds fantastic. Sounds like a lawnmower. Arctic Circle, here we come. Beep, beep. Blow this Popsicle stand. This is a remarkably small motorcycle. I look down, and my wrists are directly above my knees. Runs pretty good for being, you know, almost half a century old. Being older than either one of us. Within minutes of leaving, we had confirmed that both our motorcycles were too small and too slow, and it started raining. All right. Three miles into our trip, and already time to put on our rain gear. I haven't worn over-the-top rain gear in so long. It will be effective, but it's not easy to put on, as you can see. You know how sometimes in a road trip you, like, eventually you learn how to do things properly and do them well? Eventually. Eventually, but this is the part where you don't know what you're doing. Hi there. The local fellow did not seem concerned by this rain one bit. But we're from Southern California. We haven't seen rain in four years. On the road again. Now fully condomed. For you folks watching at home, we bought this bike on a Tuesday, and we had it on a pallet bound for Anchorage on a Friday, so there was precious little time to go through it. We did the best we could, but it had been sitting in someone's garage, not on the road since 2004. I mean, it's really running bad. Is it taking a dump? Ah! Wow, okay, yeah. Let's move far right. The last frontier has a Regal Stadium Cinema and a Target. I think this frontier's been conquered. Despite the CT90 having a fit in the rain, we made it out of the city and onto the safety of slower backroads. But even on quiet Tulane, we were rolling roadblocks and had to keep a close eye on our mirrors, especially going uphill. The upshot to taking the mellow route on low-horsepower bikes is that you have more time to soak up the scenery. Alaska is 2 1⁄2 times bigger than Texas and about 100 times more interesting to look at. In other words, our horsepower-to-scenery ratio was off the charts. We have found a road that is finally slow enough for our motorcycles. The weather has improved. Things are looking good, and Aerie's bike hasn't broken yet, which I think we can all agree is very surprising. I mean, it's known to be a reliable machine, and maybe you're not familiar with the CT90, in which case, let me tell you about it because we've got plenty of time. It was introduced in the 60s as a woodsman's motorcycle. It has an indestructible 89cc engine. It has a four-speed automatic transmission with a high and a low range. It's got an auxiliary fuel can. It's got this huge luggage rack, so you can take it camping. You can take it hunting. You can even load it up and ride to the top of Alaska, which is what we decided to do, and I'm doing it with heart and soul and character, not like this plastic-clad modern abomination. Look, just because I got LED lights and fuel injection and anti-lock brakes on the front wheel anyway doesn't mean that I don't have soul. I share your soul, my friend. We have the same soul. You got a good point. They do share the same soul, and it's an often-touted statistic that this genre of motorcycle from Honda with the lay-down engine is the most popular of all time. They've sold 100 million of them, so I figure if it's good enough for that many people, it's probably good enough for our trip to South Alaska. We really can't call ourselves true motorcyclists unless we've experienced the most popular motorcycle in the history of the world, am I right? This is a good way to experience it. I agree. Let's pass this camera truck, shall we? Oh, look at him go. Finally, some twists and turns. Yeah, I'm not really sure I'm excited about them considering the way this suspension wallows and how gummy these tires are. Yeah, I rolled out already. I'm checking it out. Ah, ah, ah, they're so mushy. I can see the front end wallowing around just here. It's exciting, but not in a fun way. It's Hatcher Pass, right? Is this the road? Yeah, we're turning left here. Off the pavement. Yeah, I didn't know this was dirt, actually. It looks very steep, and I've been using second gear a lot already. All right, this is a first-gear kind of hill. Look how beautiful this is. I mean, I don't know if I've ever seen such a rich verdant green. That is beautiful. It's really beautiful. The fog hanging over the hills doesn't hurt either. I would definitely use this as the home screen on my laptop. Slow going. I'll give you a push. Yeah. Yeah, there he goes. Oh, he's doing woolies. Well, I think we found a way to entertain ourselves while going up hills slowly. Jeez, look at this. It looks like we're approaching the Pearly Gates or something. Yeah, I think we're going to heaven, Zach. We didn't find St. Peter, but halfway through our first day, we had already conquered one of the highest mountain passes in Alaska, a road only accessible by rugged trail bikes, and the occasional family hatchback. We snapped some pictures to commemorate the achievement and then immediately ran out of gas. We were wondering who it would happen to first. Both bikes have 1.4-gallon tanks. Unfortunately, CT90 is out first, but it comes with an auxiliary tank with 0.6 gallons in it, so I'm cool for now. We both have extra gas, for what it's worth, in these two-gallon cans here, so it is actually poetic for the race for the better motorcycle that he ran out first because he carries more fuel. I'm eager to use this beautiful little canteen of gasoline that came stock on the bike, which is one of the brilliant features of the Trail 90. Unfortunately, Eri filled his with gin, so this is not going to do any good. What's our mileage so far today? 90 miles per gallon. 90 miles a gallon. This 46-year-old motorcycle with unknown mileage that's smoking out of the tailpipe and not even running particularly well is getting 90 miles per gallon, climbing crap like that loaded down with stuff like this. I'm impressed. Evidently. I think I'm going to be out of gas pretty soon, but I can see gas in there. Yeah. You can see the bottom of the tank getting exposed as well. Do you want to just top up now? No, I want to know what my mileage is. All right. That's fair. Spoiler alert. I was getting more than 110 miles per gallon, which was great news, not only because it was better than Eri's clapped-out junker, but because in a few days we would face the long run from Coldfoot Camp to Prudhoe Bay. Almost 250 miles with no gas pumps. So we'll see how our campsite is. Maybe it'll be fancy. Who knows? It's the peak of the summer season, so we'll see. Wow. Yeah, this is a popping little town. This is not what I was expecting. Women in cowboy boots and a skirt. This is straight-up touristy. Too bad we're not allowed to eat at any of these restaurants. They look good. This is it right here, the River Park Campground. Riverview Park. Seems vacant. I think we've got a place to sleep tonight, dude. Everyone is excited to camp on the first night, and we were no different. We pitched our tents, fired up our kitchen, and Eri got the chance to try some local cuisine after all. I have a mosquito in my dinner already. Extra protein. Mosquito is coming out of my dinner. Well, as you can see, we are enjoying our self-sufficient meals out of a bag with pockets of molten hot partially hydrated rice that'll burn your mouth. Granddaddy CC90 was puffing a lot of smoke today. Got to look into that. See where that sun is? In the trees, well above the horizon? It is currently 9.54 p.m. Just let that sink in. It's 10 o'clock and the sun is still that high, so we're a little discombobulated. And the MSGs in my chicken fried rice probably aren't going to help. So, finish our meal in a bag, try to survive with some taste buds intact, and in the morning, suss out the bikes and hope they're healthy enough to keep on trucking. I got high hopes. Agreed. I mean, Hanas are known for their reliability, but this one has been on the planet for a long time. There's a lot of things that can go wrong when you're working with a 46-year-old motorcycle. Good thing there's gear oil on hand. Think that's an accident? Keep it old school, man. That's what our granddaddies used. I should do some due diligence with my... check my bike as well. The old CT90 was holding up well enough, but the oil was pretty low. Either I hadn't put enough in it to begin with, or, more likely, the engine was just four decades past the prime of its life. You thirsty little cow? 250 milliliters added. That is a lot of oil to burn in about 200 miles. That's actually not that far off from a two-stroke ratio. We have enough oil for three more days. Perfect. Yeah. For the next couple of days, we made our way past Denali National Park and in to the heart of Alaska. With some experimenting, we found that the CT90 could carry 40 miles an hour uphill with a tight draft off the Trail 125. We also learned that Alaskan weather can change on a dime, and often does. But we were finally settling in to life on the road. We ate disappointing meals out of plastic bags. We bathed in ice-cold creeks and had to stretch to avoid cramping on our tiny bikes. It was everything a road trip should be. The only thing missing was terrain that matched the name of our machines. So after hundreds of miles of pavement, we decided to ditch our luggage and put the Trail logo to the test. Suspension already feels like crap, but this is great. This is like almost exactly what a little trail bike like this should do. I don't even know if I'm going to make it up this hill. Go, go, go, go! Holy s***! Alright, I've been waiting to do this. Honda equipped the CT90 with a transmission that compensates for a lack of torque. All I've got to do is flip this from the high, put it in neutral, flip it from high to low, and now the entire four-speed gear range is just going to be a lot lower, so hopefully I can tractor up these hills. Because this is the first actual incline and I already had to dog paddle. Let's see if I can keep up with low range engaged. Onward! Oh, yeah! Oh, now he's just whistling. Oh, yeah! Let's get muddy! Yeah! Oh, what happened? I spun out. You need a hand? Maybe. You got those highway tires. They're not made for this muddy mess. I know. I think I'm ready. Alright, after you. The suspension's only gotten better with age. It feels great! CT90 suspension's like a red wine. And all this sliding around in the seat is giving me monkey butt. This is what Alaska's all about. Wide open spaces. No rules. Trails everywhere. This is great. After we got off the mountain, we found a campsite worthy of a postcard, covered our heads to block out the incessant daylight, and tried our best to sleep. We had some problems. We just didn't know it yet. The goal when we left Anchorage was to have all of our food and water necessities and camping lodging necessities on the motorcycle. Be self-sufficient. So we filtered water, brought a tent, etc. and we brought all these freeze-dried meals so that we would not have to purchase any food between Anchorage and Prudhoe Bay at the top of Alaska. However, we made one big mistake wherein we actually miscounted the number of days even though we were well aware we did not bring enough food. So that's kind of inexcusable. But then, on my part, I simply didn't put enough in my bags and then also underestimated how much I like to eat. So this is clearly not enough food for three days, at least not for me. So I'm probably going to have to come up with a secondary plan. But you, my friend, look at this. An abundance over here. I rationed my apples. Indeed you did. I mean, you think you can make it? So I can have an apple a day. Which will keep the doctor away. That's good. I can have two granola bars per day. Yep. I can have whatever a third of this peanut butter that's left, which is not very much. I can have one and a half meat sticks per day. And then we have the shared wasa crackers and bread and honey. I'm going for it. So, food was a problem we would have to figure out later. But we also had a bigger fish to fry. And that fish was the Dalton Highway. The famously desolate, notoriously dangerous, exceedingly long, and mostly gravel road to Prudhoe Bay. This is it. Pavement has ended. We got gravel. Beginning of the Dalton Highway. Speed limit 50 miles an hour. Next 416 miles. How often do you see a sign that lists that kind of mileage for anything? This is the iconic Dalton Highway. People the world over know about it. They've heard the stories. They've heard about the challenges. People getting stranded, running off the road. Ice road truckers. We are dust road riders, I guess. We should take a picture at the sign. Oh, heck yeah. Got the obligatory selfie. To the Arctic. Alright. First taste of truck dust. Ah, chucking rocks alright. I can hit with a rock, sure enough. That's surprisingly frightening. I can see no things. So we're going to have to get used to that. The Dalton Highway, or simply the haul road to the locals, is not the scenic route through this part of the world. It is the only route. A leftover piece of infrastructure from when the massive oil pipeline was built in the 1970s, which remains the financial backbone of the whole region. There are occasional signs of life, but it's mostly just you and the road. Progress was slow with 7 or 8 horsepower and felt even slower with empty stomachs. Apple, peanut butter, tuna fish bread. This is lunch for today. or eaten our camera crew. But since the only thing we were allowed to buy was gasoline, we'd need to figure out another plan. Thankfully, since the sun never goes down, we had more options than usual. Made pretty good time on the haul road. And actually, this is where we had intended to camp tonight, but it's still fairly early in the day. And we think we've come up with a solution for me not having enough food to get all the way to Prudhoe Bay. The solution is my food, of which I have a little bit more. So if I share with Ari, and we don't camp here tonight, but we go to where we were supposed to camp tomorrow night, we'll shave a day off our trip and therefore might have enough food for the two of us to get to the top of Alaska as self-sustaining Honda trailers. Is this Coldfoot? This is Coldfoot. Population who knows what, but not very many. I think when I looked at it on the map, it was like a couple dozen. Can we just camp in the grass there? We made it to Coldfoot Camp, north of the Arctic Circle. Once teeming with crews of people to create the pipeline and the adjacent haul road, we made it in great time. It's now early evening here. Just kidding. It was 11 hours of riding, and it's 10.15 now. But the good news is we packed two days into one. So tonight we feast, in a manner of speaking anyway. Yeah, we're eating, you know, 400 calories when we really want 1,200. We've been starving ourselves all day, but by cutting a day off the trip, we know we have enough food to get to Prudhoe, which is what we've got to do tomorrow. So go to bed, even though the sky is still very light, and do it all again tomorrow. Final day on the haul road. The big, long ride all the way up to Prudhoe Bay. It is 250 miles on two very small motorcycles. I think we've got enough food though. Yep, as long as nothing goes wrong whatsoever. All right, let's go. I'm tired of these bugs. Every time I go up a steep hill, I'm like, oh, it's got to be the worst one yet. And then a couple of miles later, lo and behold, the beginning of the climb through Adigan Pass through the Brooks Range marks the Great Divide. Pretty substantial geographic landmark. Pretty cool thing to ride a motorcycle over if we can ever get there. Drastically losing speed. Got to keep it pinned. Conquering Adigan Pass at five miles an hour. 18 miles an hour, actually. Really? I can do 18 miles an hour in first gear? Truck up. So far they haven't been chucking any stones at us, but they've been very polite. Coming in for a push. Thank you, sir. Can't bear dropping down to first gear again. Looks like this might be the top, and now we're going back down. That was it. 4,730. Good job, CT! You made it! I mean, it's a totally different landscape. Now it's all barren, gray stone mountains instead of forest or rolling green tundra. The last big hill was behind us. Ahead of us, a mostly straight shot to Bruto Bay. Also, a very big storm. Wow. That was some bright lightning. If we can avoid getting stuck in a downpour, that would be nice. Especially with 120-something miles still to go to get to Bruto Bay. Don't really need to get wet right now. Well, it's not rain. It's frozen rain. And it's freaking big and coming down hard. It stings on my legs. Yeah, they're really big pieces of hail. Holy crap! Holy Moses! We knew we were going to face some wet weather in Alaska. And we were prepared for the worst. All our stuff was packed in waterproof bags and luggage. Including Zach's camping supplies. Does anyone know where my tent is? I still have my stove and spare tubes for the bikes, which is good. But evidently, I don't have my tent anymore. You all right? I lost my tent, my sleeping bag, my pad, my pillow, my chair. And the camera crew didn't pick it up because we're self-sufficient. Those bastards. So roundabout we go. Yeah, back toward the rain, I guess. Considering the flat, empty terrain, we assumed finding the bag over the course of a few miles would be no problem. That was wrong. It turns out nobody in the camera truck noticed it fall off either. That is, until they reviewed the footage. I didn't see it fall off. Take the shot. What? Wait for it. There it goes. Okay. That's pretty solid evidence. But even with the video, we did not find my bag. After spending 20 miles backtracking and referencing the footage, we gave up. My mood has soured because it was full of all my camping stuff, which is like I've collected over the years. The good news is, we don't have to camp anymore and I have high hopes that when we get to Prudhoe Bay, either someone will have turned it in. We've only passed five vehicles in the hour that we've been looking. Or we can radio back to Coldfoot. We also shouldn't rule out the possibility that mosquitoes just picked it up and carried it away, considering how big and how many there are. So I'm going to relieve myself on this piece of earth as a way of showing you how I feel. And then we'll continue on. I'm going to do the same thing he's doing. I can tell you exactly where I do not want a mosquito bite. Yeah, I know. I'm like keeping an eye on it to make sure nothing lands. Of all the challenges we had faced in Alaska up to this point, rain, hunger, mosquitoes, the temperature at least had been surprisingly warm. But as we closed in on Prudhoe Bay, things started to feel properly arctic. I don't know what happened, but it got real cold. Holy goodness. Can't feel my hands, can't feel my feet. It went from pleasant to vicious in probably five miles. I mean, it is bitingly cold. It is blowing hard and it is super foggy. It's going to turn to snow at any minute. God, it's so cold. Three miles to go to Deadhorse. Look at that, there's a sign. It took all our food, most of our gas and all of our nerves. But we're here. Look at this place. Block heaters for all the trucks. Wow. For when it's so cold. That's insane, man. I mean, this is like a moon base. Yeah, it's sort of like what you imagine a colony in outer space to look like. There we go. Arctic oil-filled hotel. Welcome home. We did it. We rode the entire length of the Dalton Highway from Anchorage to Prudhoe Bay. We were self-sufficient, we camped, we brought all of our own food. Thank you for sharing and saving my life. That was quite a ride. Indeed. I forgot what I was supposed to say, I'm sorry. Yeah, it's because your brain's probably frozen. What he wants to say is that for most people, this would be the end of the ride. This is as far as you can go. But we still have one more thing we've got to do. Once we got blood flowing back to our brains, we ransacked the cafeteria at the Arctic Oil Field Hotel and made arrangements to get our bikes from Prudhoe Bay to the northernmost town in the United States, Utqiagvik, a place only accessible by boat or airplane. And that brings us to the whole reason we decided to ride tiny machines in the first place. Loaded plenty of motorcycles on the backs of trucks and lots of trailers, but never in an airplane before. Alright, coming at you. Alright. It's tight. It's a small airplane, as promised. Alright, this is takeoff. We got one stop to make for our final touchdown. We're evidently dropping off some supplies at another remote town on the way. I guess that's just part of life in a cargo plane up here this far north in Alaska, but pretty cool experience. This far out on the permafrost, roads aren't an option. That means everything. People, food, mail, medicine, and even motorcycles. Has to be brought in by sea or sky. After dropping a few cases of soda in the town of Nuiqsut, population 496 people, and at least one very nice truck, we continued on to Utqiagvik. We've touched down in Utqiagvik, a.k.a. Barrow, and now we head north. Hope there's enough gas left in our bikes to get us there. If Ari's bike starts. Yeah, well, you know. This is an active runway, and we've been asked to leave. It's a carbureted motorcycle. Oh, come on. You're going to have to tow me. We're going to get arrested. All right, I'm going to give it a little choke. I haven't had to do it the whole trip. Ready? Choke it, smoke it. If you can't find it, grind it. Never thought I would journey to the northernmost town in America. It's quite a place. It's definitely unique, definitely different than any place I have ever been. It's got a little touch of rural Vermont, don't you think? There's, like, vehicles in people's yards. Yes. It's just kind of, I mean, people are making do. It's a tough way to live up here. They subside on hunting, fishing, and whaling. They still go out every year and harpoon whales off the ice, which is amazing to think of. And then the rest of the year, I guess they just hunker down and try to survive. For those that don't want to venture out onto the ocean, there is a grocery store. However, the remoteness of Utqiagvik has a pretty profound impact on prices. We grew up in New England and complained about being cold staying at the bus stop and how dark it was in the winter. But they get 64 days of darkness here, total darkness, when the sun does not even show above the horizon. And they get temperatures that are negative 40, negative 50 degrees for days on end. Then again, they get about eight weeks where it doesn't get dark. So the daylight payoff comes around in the summer, you know? After our nickel tour of the top of the world, we were finally ready to make the push out to Point Barrow, the northernmost point of this northernmost town. Uh-oh. Blowing smoke and just died. Oh, perfect. Can you imagine this little motorcycle, after all that we've put it through, is finally acting up on the last day? It seemed clear to me that the CT was struggling to get fuel. So we took a run at the carburetor, which didn't help. So we checked spark and then took apart the carburetor again. Still, no luck keeping the CT running. I don't mind having problems with machines when I run out of ideas and I start to hear a noise. Like I said from the beginning, he loves fixing stuff. And luckily for the CT90, even a cold, wet, and frustrated Aerie is a better mechanic than most of us on a good day. I was just checking for spark, because that's one of the standard things you do when a bike won't run. And it did have spark, but I also felt it shocking me through the spark plug boot. And considering it was running poorly in Anchorage when it rained hard and it's now running poorly again when it's raining, I'm guessing that voltage is leaking out of the boot because of the rain. All right, we found our problem. Wrapped it in electrical tape. I feel confident today it gets fixed. We'll still make it to Point Barrow. Point Barrow is a narrow spit of land on the far end of town that reaches out into the Arctic Ocean. More of a beach than an actual road, and a known stomping ground for polar bears, it was the last stretch between us and the end of our adventure. Taking some pressure out of the tires, because that looks super, super soft. Supposedly three miles from this point, which isn't that far, but in sand that deep, could take us a while. To Point Barrow! Oh! Oh boy. Oh my lord. I think we might be hiking. Also, my bike just died. Three miles minus 100 yards to go. If we encounter a polar bear, we are super boned. You think I can go faster than this? Good? Sort of. Okay. Let's try again. Not much better. Oh, second gear! Oh, that did not last long. Did not last long. Also, my bike is just running like dump ski. Frankly, I'm surprised it's still running at all. I guess we know why people don't ride to Point Barrow. Too tough for most guys, right Zack? I'm going to go over more, in search of firm ground. Coffee, I'll probably follow you. Here we go. A little bit of luck. Oh, look at you go. There we go. Alright, making some distance. Even got my feet on the pegs. No, no, no, come on. Come on. You can do it. Get on the plane. I'm on the plane. Let's go. Come on, third gear. Yeah, third gear. We're rolling now. Woo! We were desperate for a harder surface to ride on, and aimed for lower ground. The sand at the shoreline was a little firmer, but it came with the trade-off of a rusty future for the bikes. I'm really sorry about the salt water, CT. Oh, I'm so sorry. Oh, look at the steam, oh my god. I just made some excellent distance. Feeling really good about that. Goodness. Hi there. Hello. Hi, guys. How are you? We're going to be short of the North Pole, I think. We're just trying to go to the northernmost point. Is that it? That's it. Nice to meet you. Glad to be able to confirm that we are nearly there. No bucket list trip for this guy. He's just bringing fish home. Asking us what the heck we're doing out here. Come on. Come on, dude. Everything's wet. Everything's covered in seaweed. I don't want to say this sucks, but it's pretty unfortunate getting where we are. The pole marking our finish line was literally in sight. But the CT90 had nothing left to give. Maybe it was the thousand miles of riding at wide open throttle. Or maybe it was the salt water dousing its already compromised ignition system. After everything the bike had been through, it deserved better than this. We both did. Oh my God. This stuff is soup. Come on, little buddy. You carry me a thousand miles, I'll push you 50 yards. Oh my God. Is that a whale carcass? Yes. Wow. Yeah. Hey, why don't you steer and I'll push? I just came back to watch. Not help, but sure. Yeah. We made it. Top of Alaska. What a journey. Wow. Couple days riding. Pack a little food. No big deal. Everyone should do this. You know, fingers are chilly. Potential cardiac arrest. Other than that. Potential polar bear mauling. Hey, what's up Arctic? The beach bends south that way, and south that way. Pretty amazing place to have ridden a motorcycle, or I should say, have pushed a motorcycle. It might have been 40 degrees and raining, but this was our finish line. And that alone made it beautiful. As for the bikes, they both managed to live up to their massive reputation. The new Trail 125 was treated horribly and ran flawlessly. The CT90 was treated horribly and kind of ran horribly. But damn it, it ran. These humble machines got us all the way to the top of the United States. Through the land of the midnight sun. Across the last frontier. And so, in a state one-fifth the size of the lower 48, we had found our own story. As big as the land itself. All we had to do now was get off this beach. Let's go home! I'll eat you in your sleep, Andrew. You teasing us with food? You guys doing this for any reason? Yeah, we make a YouTube show. Oh, what's your YouTube channel? The channel is RevZilla. Oh, I know RevZilla. Yeah. I don't have anything to say. I just wanted the camera truck to have to roll its window down. Now the helicopter comes, right?