Alaska

As I began my ride towards the Arctic Circle, I left Anchorage to the south; nickles and dimes and quaters clinking in my pocket, and my heart beating with the excitement of it all. 'I am in America. It never gets dark. I can stay awake for ever!'

And I was still believing this at 1am, as the sky fell only to a long and lingering dusk, and everything was light. 'It's true, I know, I have always needed sleep before. But before there was always dark. And now the dark has gone so too perhaps has the need for sleep. And why should we rest when the sun itself never really sets? And how will we know when it's tomorrow? And when before have I had the chance to cycle through the bright, white night, and perhaps the next three nights, or four? And maybe Hume was right. Just because something's never happened before doesn't mean it never will. Maybe it is me. Maybe I will be the first person who doesn't really ever need to sleep. And now the sky is growing lighter again and with it too I am even more awake. And in this newfound state, which must come miraculously from the lack of sleep and from the mountains and the sun and must be connected, too, to the never ending rotation of my legs, I should and must, surely, carry on.'

And I was still thinking like this an hour later when something new entered my head. I thought, 'How will I feel tomorrow if I carry on cycling? What will happen to my brain if I continue thinking in this deranged and delusional way? And what will happen to my body if I don't stop now and sleep?' And that - 2.17am on the 2nd of June, 2010 - was the moment I became old. Thinking about tomorrow, I found somewhere to camp and slept for eleven hours.

For the next two weeks though the sun still played undead in the northern, summer sky, and though each day my breath caught - facing new ragged peaks of torn and snowy mountains, or the cold exhaling breath of slowly melting ice, or leaving once again one of those wonderful meetings with people, which lend such joy to this trip, and continue with such terrifying and unending kindness - though each day there were those moments I believed I would never sleep again, I found myself at midnight, setting up my tent, cooking on my stove, and thinking responsibly about tomorrow, and about my progress towards Canada.




Near Healy.