After days of bouncing over gravel, dodging potholes, and being surrounded by in the silence of northern Alaska, I’ve made it safely to Fairbanks. The Dalton Highway is behind me, every mile of it. I pulled into town with my camper coated in layers of dried mud, inside and out. But finally, I’m connected to electricity again, and I can clean, recharge, and breathe.
One of the stops on this stretch was Manley Hot Springs, a tiny, end-of-the-road community. You wouldn't expect much from a place where the paved road just… stops. But it's often in the smallest places that the biggest stories live.There, I met locals who welcomed me into their world and shared parts of their lives with a sincerity that’s rare.
I met a young woman, just 25 years old, strong in spirit and presence. As she opened up about her story, I told her how honored I was that she trusted me enough to share it. Her response:
"I’m just thankful someone is finally listening."
That sentence cracked something open in me. We said our goodbyes with that emotional weight still hanging in the air. But about thirty minutes later, she returned. In her hand was a scarf, hers, a gift for me to keep me warm on the road. This truly moved me.
Traveling like this, especially through Alaska, gives me so much. I’m deeply grateful for the places I see and the people I meet. But it’s not always easy. Hearing people’s truths, some beautiful, others painful, can be confronting. Letting go after making real connections doesn’t come without emotion.
Even in the smaller villages around Fairbanks, I had unexpected, inspiring encounters. One person gave me a hand-drawn map, guiding me toward a house hidden away in the woods. Following that map became its own journey, one that gave me valuable input for my project.
What I’ve learned here is that moments like these never come when you expect them. In Alaska, you have to let go of planning too tightly. The weather, the road, and life itself will often ask you to adapt or turn around.On the way back from the Dalton, I heard I was incredibly lucky to even reach Prudhoe Bay. Just days earlier, a section of the road had washed out completely, cutting off all traffic for days.
I’m now entering the final stretch of the route, from Fairbanks down toward Homer, the symbolic end of the road. I had already started heading south when another appointment came up. So tomorrow, I’ll make a brief return to Fairbanks. Another twist, another detour.
Sometimes you arrive with clear expectations. Other times, things fall apart.
But in Alaska, I’ve learned that when you let go of what you thought you were looking for, you often find something far more meaningful. A plan was made, so it could be deviated from.
Eventually, I’ll get to the end. But for now, I’m taking the long way around.
