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| Miller, Sadowski, Swanson | Jim "Squirrel" Miller |
Most adults are aware that anthropomorphizing, usually a childhood trait wherein human character and emotions are ascribed to inanimate objects like toys or non-human animals such as pet dogs, is not a factual or scientific enterprise. Even though we may solemnly state, "My little '57 Chevy Belaire loves to hum down the highway at 65mph," or "Your toy tractor is so happy when you play with him in the sandbox," or "Rover is really sad when you won't eat your spinach because he knows it is good for you," such emotions are not real. Shysters, crooks, crystal ball readers, spiritualists, and others who would part your money from your wallet will try to convince you otherwise. Inanimate objects do not love, or hate, or connive, or contemplate "getting even."
Still, all rational science aside, each time the Ripple Riders sledded past Moose Creek Bluff, they would stop, examine it, and loudly brag that one day they would climb it. The bluff, in return, would stare down with malevolence, prohibiting the exercise of such outlandish taunts and promises. The bluff simply felt that it was beneath its self-esteem to allow any would-be hill climbers to sully its beautiful, steep, and imposing facade.
Moose Creek Bluff, altitude 689 feet (#2,996 of the tallest "peaks" in Alaska), is 13 miles from Fairbanks, Alaska, near Moose Creek, North Pole, and Eielson AFB. It now exists within a formal trail sports complex and riding area, but long ago it was simply wide open country. The short bluff trail of today is popular with novice motorcycle and ATV riders in the summer and snow machine riders in the winter. The trail is listed as "easy" and does not include climbing the face of the bluff proper.
Back in the late 70s, the bluff was a cut-off face of a hill rising straight out of the surrounding flat country. The cut face was an alternating result of the construction of the Alaska Railroad, Richardson Highway, local water control efforts, and the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. The sides of the hill itself were the site of archaeological excavations documenting early human habitations over 13,000 years ago. There were also pictographs, ancient paintings on the rocks, in this area. In fact, the Moose Creek Bluff pictographs are the only ones documented in all of Interior Alaska.
An examination of the bluff during his 2022 vacation to visit his North Pole daughter revealed to Harry Swanson that the bluff is now a relatively gently sloping precipice with tire-worn grooves through its face. Obviously, many motorcycles have made the hill climb successfully. It is not the steep, unclimbed, vertical face that provided the fearful challenge to the Ripple Riders in the late 70s. Then, it was a nearly vertical cliff with a very short run-up distance from the railroad tracks and about 2 feet of true vertical lip at the top.
That "one day" the Ripple Riders often bragged about came after Harry Swanson bought his new Yamaha 440EX, Exciter. It was a fast and light machine that was easy to maneuver and ran, as his compatriots declared, "like a strip-ed assed ape." Although it was not as fast as Frank Fulkerson's John Deere, water-cooled "Green Machine," it was much lighter and better suited for hill climbing. It was not, however, built for tree climbing. (See Ripple Rider #1)
After a couple of other Ripple stops, the gang found their way to the bluff, as usually happened when driving the Alyeska pipeline access road. In those days, there were no gates or barriers along the pipeline road as there are today, and recreational travel along it was initially forbidden. The Ripple Riders believed in the mottoes "What they don't know won't hurt them," and "Catch us if you can," and they (and others) rode there often.
This day, they stopped for a sip, then another, and another. Ripple-induced courage was at a high level; the steep slope was covered with fresh, new, untrampled snow; and Swanson, now anesthetized to the reproachful glower of the bluff, decided to attempt to climb it with his new machine. With little fanfare, he motored back to the railroad tracks about 100 feet from the bluff, got lined up, and --, with his heart beating fiercely -- gripped the throttle hard and screamed toward the bluff.
The Exciter hit the bottom transition of the slope fast and hard, throwing clouds of snow right and left. It nosed up the grade and swerved its way toward the top. Just as it began to lose power and traction, the Exciter broke through the upper lip and slammed to a stop atop the heretofore unclimbed bluff. Swanson jumped off his machine, let out a rebel yell, and pumped his fists in the air. As he danced around in ecstasy, the jeers and catcalls of his fellow riders -- Jim "Squirrel" Miller, Hank Hankerson, and Butch Sadowsky on that trip -- let him know of their approval.
Maybe it was the many tipples of Ripple, but Swanson swears he felt the bluff quiver in anger, something like a small earthquake. Still, "what goes up must come down," and the descent over the nearly vertical bluff was almost as heart-stopping as the original climb.
Once that frightening bluff was climbed, others wanted to give it a try, but the only one with enough Ripple courage that day (actually, he was drinking Annie Green Springs) was Squirrel Miller. He raucously declared that if that "no-ridin'-Swanson" could climb it, so could he. So, he lined up his old, beat-up Polaris with the slope, right on Swanson's track and punched it. He sped toward the bluff, kicking snow out the side and blowing blue smoke out the back. His machine whined and twisted its way up the dangerous slope until it could go no further. It had expended all of its power and traction and was still many feet from the top.
Planning to turn his machine to the left and begin the downward leg of a parabolic turn, Squirrel forced his steering handlebars hard to the left. Unfortunately, he had made his decision too late and had no momentum remaining. His Polaris briefly stopped, facing perpendicular to the hill, then began to rapidly tumble and spin its way down the slope. Sadly, Squirrel could not bail out in time and was pounded into the steep snow as his machine came down on top of him.
His Polaris rolled in the air, and the bungee cords holding on his seat and cowling both broke at the same time. The contents of his under-seat compartment made a cold, rainbow-colored cloud of junk as they flew out. His tools, extra drive belt, rope, a fresh bottle of Annie Green Springs, extra gloves and face mask, and we know not what else all went flying about. His machine, bent and broken, stopped as an upside-down pile at the bottom.
Squirrel lay on the slope, not moving. It took a second for the shocked realization to dawn on the befuddled minds of the remaining Ripple Riders that Squirrel was hurt or, worse, dead. They all rushed towards him as best they could in bunny boots and winter riding suits, but the slope was steep and progress was slow. Before they got to him, Squirrel stirred and then, moaning and crying out, he began to roll down the hill toward his rescuers. When the group got together at the bottom, everyone realized from Squirrel's movements and crying out that he really was hurt. Again, Swanson thought he felt the subtle rumble and quiver of the Bluff.
Like all good friends with alcohol-induced brain fog will do, the Ripple Riders cajoled Squirrel, teased him, and belittled him to get his mind off of his pains. After all, this was not his first ill-conceived escapade. As he began to mentally recover, he swore that he could make it back on his own, but he wanted to go back RIGHT NOW! The gang rolled his Polaris upright, straightened out the bent handlebars and bent skis, re-bungied his seat, and pulled the starter rope. It fired up and ran! But the cowling was now in several pieces which someone else strapped to the back of their snow machine. Slowly, they all drove back to Eielson AFB, with Squirrel whimpering, grimacing, and whining the whole way. We all wondered what the gate guards said (or reported) as this familiar-but-motly group re-entered Eielson AFB
Although everyone was relieved that Squirrel had not perished under his rolling machine, they didn't give him any slack. After a trip to the emergency room, Squirrel found out that he had dislocated his left shoulder, broken a finger on his left hand, and gotten a number of bruises and contusions.
Never again did any of them try to reconquer Moose Creek Bluff The bluff had exacted its revenge and Miller got what he was always complaining he didn't get enough of: DNIF!
RIP Squirrel.