I'm In... Again

Well, I got in. This time, a little more than 23 hours before the start of the race, like in 2011.

The White Mountains 100 is a bike/foot/ski race held in Interior Alaska in winter... well, late March, when the hospitable temperatures and sunlight have returned to the northern hemisphere, more or less to stay 'til fall.

I've done the route three times on my fatbike and twice on snowmachine.

2010 - Volunteered for the race, patrolling the course on snowmachine, looking for racers in need of assistance. The next week, having just purchased a new 29er with Snow Cat wheels, I went out and rode the course solo in 29 hrs.

2011 - 23 hrs before the race start, I got in, as someone had dropped out. I hadn't ridden 100 miles total, all winter, before the race. I finished 23rd, in 16 hrs 15 min, on my single-speed Pugsley.

2012 - Brett Parks & I rode the 100 mile route in two days as an overnight camping trip. Bitter cold and horrifically dry, abrasive snow. JR & I then filmed the race via a snowmachine and he made a documentary, which airs this winter at a film festival.

2013 - The first year in which I can actually train before doing the route/race. I'm happy to be in again. AND, I have gears now!

I'm excited. Now, I have a legit reason to ride bikes as much as possible. I needed a goal like this to get in tip-top shape.
Hopefully, you won't have to look far down the list to see my name in March.

Winter Biking the Denali Highway

There are two stories here...
1. The photos do not speak of the difficulty.
2. The story does not speak of the beauty.

Winter Biking the Denali Highway from Josh Spice on Vimeo.

The Denali Highway is a 135 mile-long gravel road across the south side of the Alaska Range, between Cantwell and Paxson. It is 'closed' in the winter, as the state doesn't plow the road. However, local lodge owners groom it for snowmachine traffic and business, which means unless a storm has blown it shut, it's probably bike-able.

The longer daylight of March makes night riding mostly unnecessary, contrary to the rest of the Alaskan winter. 30 below temperatures meant for cold camping conditions and lots of puffy clothes... and incredibly slow, crunchy snow.

The snow was so crunchy and slow, we often had to pedal to continue moving downhill. Riding the flats was like pedaling an uphill grade. So many uphill sections had to be pushed, where as they should have been ride-able under normal conditions.
It was exhausting the entire way.

Day 1: 46 mi, Cantwell to Susitna Overlook
Day 2: 43 mi, Susitna Overlook to Maclaren Lodge
Day 3: 42 mi, Maclaren Lodge to Paxson

Type II fun at its finest.

Time to (Re)Think

One of my most favorite things about being on a bike is all the quiet time you have to think... about anything... and everything.

Obviously, I like going light and simple and pedaling a heavily laden bike up steep hills is not so much fun. So, I resorted to Cass Gilbert, world traveller via Surly Ogre. His (bike)packing style is similar to mine, so I was able to jump the learning curve quite a bit through his writings and photos. He has great insight on how and why, including how & why not, through experience. The latter is the best.

My Fargo got rigged up in a similar fashion, which I really like a lot. It worked fantastically in the 1.5 day ride Brett & I did to Denali Park.
Unfortunately, my worsening ankle pronation due to flat arches, caused a tendon/ligament to flare up and cause a good limp. I had to quit the 460 mile ride I had planned for 6 days, going across the Denali Highway and back up to Fairbanks.
Instead, I hopped the train back to Fairbanks from Denali National Park, where Brett had planned on accompanying me to.

In the 120 paved miles, I did learn my nicely-organized set-up in one way and junk show in another, could be improved upon. Ironically, I got home and Cass had put up a post with his altered set-up, which was almost exactly what I was thinking to change. I like the addition of the rack to strap random things to, or as a place to put some food at the start of the trip or at re-supplies.

When I got back to town, I bought some Superfeet insoles and they seem to be helping my foot issue. I'll give it a few days of rest, then I'll be back on the bike. I have a few more rides I'd like to do this summer, including the portion I had to skip out on.

Ride times:
Fairbanks to Monderosa ~55 mi: 3.5 hrs
Monderosa to Tatlanika/Nenana River bridge ~27 mi: 2 hrs (camp overnight)
Bridge to Healy ~25 mi: 2 hrs
Healy to Denali Park ~14 mi: 1 hr
8.5 hrs total ride time, Fairbanks to Denali ~120 mi

Here are some photos of the ride. Thanks for stopping by.
Josh

The Out-of-Shape 100: An Annual Fatbike Ride

What seems even more routine than doing the 100 mile loop in the White Mountains National Recreation Area every year on my fatbike, is how I somehow always do it 'off-the-couch.' Maybe because I know I can?

In 2010, I had just gotten my 29er with Snow Cats and thought it would be a good idea to do a 100 mile winter bike trip in the backcountry. I had no experience doing this sort of a trip on a bike, especially in winter. It went fine, I had a lot of fun, learned many things, and came back feeling strong and accomplished... and lucky with the nice conditions I had.

In 2011, I broke down and bought a fatbike in February. Then in March, I got into the White Mountains 100 race 23 hours before the start. I had not planned on doing the race, outside of signing up for the wait list a week before, when the race director told me I'd probably get in if I did. First time doing any sort of racing and I hadn't even put on 100 cumulative miles on any of my bikes prior to the race. I finished 23rd, in 16 hrs 15 mins with my single-speed Pugsley. I was exhausted, but I did it and I didn't kill myself doing it.

This year, we all survived the month-and-a-half cold snap of doing nothing other than simply surviving (read: not biking). I hadn't ridden since early December (see the winter extreme cold weather trend?) and Brett had never been on his bike for more than two hours at one time, having just gotten it earlier this winter. I knew we'd be fine, though... right?

Having done the 100 mile route twice already, I've learned snow biking is the perfect time to swallow your pride and admit you're mortal. Yes, get off and push the bike up the hills, using fresh walking legs. It's easier than trying to ride the steep and mushy if you're not in phenomenal shape.

We had a great plan to meet up with three friends at the cabin 62 miles into the 100 mile loop and spend the night. They'd be there before us, so a warm cabin was our motivation to push on... literally.

Riding was pretty good, albeit slightly slow due to the cold, granulated snow. We did 35 miles in 5 hours, which is alright for loaded bikes, then rested for a bit, and went over 3300 foot Cache Mountain Divide in the dark, pushing up a lot of it. Once on the other side, it was a long descent to the cabin, including almost two miles of overflow ice with ankle deep slush in places.

We rolled in to the cabin at 9 pm, under the glow of the aurora, and were welcomed by our three friends with hot water and a warm cabin. It was a great way to end a 62 mile day of winter biking, hanging out with friends, watching the aurora, and sleeping in a warm cabin in the middle of everywhere.

John Shook had a wonderful idea to heat up some brandy on the wood stove for Brett & I, but Ed Plumb grabbed the pot, in the poorly lit cabin, dumped the 'contents' in the water pot, and headed outside to get more snow for melting. John raced to the door and yelled, 'STOP!,' but it was too late. Brandy water it was for Brett & I to fill our bottles with for the next day. It was like having a little dose of ibuprofen with every drink. Pretty sweet way to ease aching muscles.

The next morning, we left the cabin with the temp at 5 below and rode into the bottom of the Beaver Creek drainage, where the cold settled in. The 20 below temps nipped at our noses and fingers as we pedaled through the open spruce forest.

With the dropping temperatures came drier and more granulated (read: slower) snow. It was a struggle to pedal flat ground, much less any sort of uphill gradient. After pushing up many small grades, including the 600 foot, mile long Wickersham Wall, we only had a handful of miles left as the sun began to dip towards the horizon.


We reached the trailhead and got to drive back to Fairbanks in the light. What a treat to not be out in the dark again. I'm glad I went with Brett, this time, as it was really fun to bike the route with another person. Also very cool to meet up with our friends at the cabin, which made for a nice night on trail.
Another loop on the 100 mile route in the White Mountains complete. Maybe next time I'll be in better shape.
Maybe next time, I'll do it self-supported in a day...

 

I should do a post in February

Well, I didn't die. The month-and-a-half long cold snap down to -57F at my cabin didn't kill me because I barely did anything outside the whole time. It almost killed me, though... mentally. I got 50 below in Fairbanks for my birthday and even colder where I live. Thanks, Mother Nature. I really appreciated it. Yeah.
Since it warmed up, I've battled to regain the desire to go outside and experience this thing they call 'fun.' I almost forgot what it was.

Skiing seemed like a reasonable idea during the cold snap and a few friends finally convinced me to go outside. It was worth it.

Then the outdoors editor for the local paper called me and asked some questions about fatbikes. I was featured in the story.

I put out Far North Fatbikes' third edition of our newsletter, The Fat & Happy.

Then, I got to head out into the great white world of Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve to co-manage the hospitality stop (photos) at Slaven's Roadhouse for the Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race. The aurora gave me a nice goodbye the night before I left and then welcomed me the night I arrived at the historic roadhouse.

When I got back, my buddy Brett & I headed out into the White Mountains with our fatbikes and did the 100 mile loop in two days. It was a coarse reminder of how far 100 miles is and how out of shape we were from the cold snap.
The only thing I have to say, don't wear a backpack while biking. It kills ventilation.

My buddy, Jack, came into Anchorage from Nome, so J.R. & I went down to see him and ride fatbikes.
J.R. put together a video of the trip.

Our bud, Colby designed a sweet new logo for Far North Fatbikes.

I'm working on a trip report of the White Mountains biking trip, but decided I should probably do a post in February.
More to come soon, after I catch up on sleep and do a short bike trip this weekend... just a 40 mile day ride, no big deal :)

The Annual Chapter of Learning

2011 was personally not the most epic year of my life, but it stood out as one of the greatest years I can remember. 
Below is a list all the reasons why, but, truly, they are all the same reason it was such an absolutely amazing year for me:
I learned SO much!

January:
-After running a 29er on Snowcats for over a year, I listened to the choir and built a fatbike... and never looked back.
-I figured out how to stay warm enough, yet keep from sweating, while biking & bike-joring at 30 & 40 below.
-As it turns out, biking means happiness. This, I can verify.
-Finally got my Boundary Fur Sewing beaver & wolverine ruff put on my down parka.

February:
-Religiously following the mushers on the Yukon Quest actually taught me a lot of things about dog mushing.
-I purchased a sewing machine and then DID NOT learn how to use it. What I did learn is how intricate and temperamental they are.
-Learning to lead ice climbing made me a better climber.
-I made a proposition to rename the majority of the contiguous 48 states: Illohiowa, Nebransas, Calegon, Utada, New Mezona, Missiana, Washaho, Florgeama, Massicutt, Rhodaware, Caroginia, Tennestucky, Wisconigan, Minnekota, Wyotana, Texlahoma, and Maineshire. I would also like to add that Alaska should assume all western Canada's territories and provinces west of and including Sasquatch-chew-on. Why would anyone want None-of-it, a Labrador, OKbeck, and New-found-land, anyway?!?!
-Most importantly, I took a little girl down the road for a dogsled ride and was reminded of how wonderful it is to make a child smile.

March:
-Brett and I attempted to summit Mt McKinley in winter, but were forced to turn around due to hip-deep sugar snow (with snowshoes on). Oh yeah, and it was -35, we only had three days of food, and were burning through the white gas faster than planned. Fortunately, I learned a lot about clothing and winter gear.
-In 2010, I volunteered on the inaugural White Mountains 100 bike/ski/foot race and then biked the 100 mile course the following weekend, solo & unsupported. This year, I, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to sign up for the race and then waited to the bitter end to find out if I got in. I finished respectfully, having an awesome time riding the course with everyone.

April:
-For the first time publicly, I showed some of the photographs I've taken in the past five years.
-Not staying in touch with friends in the Lower 48 brought me back to Facebook after a long hiatus after joining in 2005.
-After buying an electric bass guitar, I taught myself how to play.
-Tough times reminded me to look back on good ones... real good ones.
-J.R. and I found out how cool biking the Denali Park Road over Easter is.

May:
-Apparently, drinking 37 different kinds of beer in 21 days is the only way I can gain weight.
-When I went to Wisconsin to see my parents for three weeks, I wrote this on Facebook: 'I left Alaska and there was an 800 acre wildfire within two miles of my cabin. I went to the great state of Missouri Misery and the deadliest tornado in America since 1953 hit right after I left. I traveled to Minnesota and then Minneapolis was hit by a tornado. I drove through La Crosse, Wisconsin and a tornado hit the next day. We just had tornado warnings and severe thunderstorms in Northeast Wisconsin. Maybe I should go back home to my cabin in Alaska... I'm glad I've missed it all.'
-If you let ice cream melt a little, it doesn't look like you ate so much.

June:
-My 'extended seasonal' position as a Park Ranger ended and I applied to get my job back. Fortunately, I did. I found out how lucky I am to have the job I do.
-Ken and I learned the real story of Chris McCandless by talking with many Healy locals and visiting the bus with open eyes and minds.
-After severely 'dislocating' my left knee for the 6th time in just over three years, the doctor told me I had, again, torn my MCL. Great news. After a few weeks of rest, I was pretty much back up and running again (literally).
-The Middle Fork of the Koyukuk was checked off my very long Alaskan Rivers To Float list. When my car's poorly-installed-by-the-original-owner security system was tripped and shut the car down, I learned that as complete of planning as I had done for the trip, there's always something unexpected that can happen.
-Firestarter has always interested me and I found out how to make my own.
-I woke up one morning to a huge hornet stinging me on the eyebrow. Good morning!
-Stoves had me wondering, so I did some math and figured what was efficient and light.

July:
-Creek crossing on a fatbike is a lot like managing eddy lines in a canoe.
-Research shows black bears are the most dangerous of all.
-No matter how bad things may be, I learned to always enjoy the view and take in what's good.
-Alaska Explorer & I started a fatbike rental business.
-Fatbikes are pretty awesome for exploring in summer, too, as I learned in the beauty of the season.
-Ken and I went backpacking in the Eastern Brooks Range and learned to never go up scree slopes. Being rim-rocked is not cool.
-While at work as a Park Ranger for the National Park Service, I wrote up a few documents and guides relating to backcountry travel in Alaska: Adventure Planning Guide, Backcountry Trip Plan, & Backcountry River Crossing. All can be viewed here, along with other great stuff.

August:
-I learned how to be an adventure photographer when Ed Plumb, Ann Farris, and I hiked and packrafted 94 miles through the Alaska Range in three days. It was an adventure I had been planning for over two years. Over two 5,000 foot passes in driving rain, snow line moving down the hillsides overnight, 6 mph glacial current, and running two Class III holes without a PFD and in a packraft with no spray deck. Awesome Alaskan weekend with good friends and my DSLR in hand at all times.
-In contrast to our March adventure, my buddy Brett and I learned that some places are best visited under the cover of snow after hiking 60 miles of tussocks, brush, and unstable boulders. We also drank the best water of our lives, which was rivaled by the meltwater I drank the following month on the Matanuska Glacier.
-I learned how to build and maintain bikes after figuring out I never use trekking poles.
-My 'Learning Experience' video was a big hit on Roman Dial's website and on YouTube.
-I found a crazy link about sailing stones - rocks that move on their own!

September:
-In a 5 1/2 month span, this blog had 7,500 page views. I was thrilled at reaching so many. I hope they all learned something, too.
-The fatbike business kicked off when a few of us went fatbiking in Wrangell-St Elias National Park for a long weekend.
-I designed a website for Amanda's Boundary Fur Sewing business which specializes in fur products for extreme cold weather adventures.
-Andrew Skurka stopped in Fairbanks and gave his Alaska-Yukon Expedition presentation.
-With the Coal Wood Glitter video and write-up, I took third place in DaveC's trip report contest and won a sweet backpack.
-Someone downstates asked me about fatbikes and possibly building one. I shared my thoughts.
-With a few things learned and some thoughts still lingering, I revisited the stove debate.
-For the second year in a row, my dad walked out into the woods, shot a buck with his bow while hunting on the ground, and dragged it out by himself. Something to be proud of even without his much disabled leg. I'm proud of him.
-I watched the Alaskan version of Dancing With The Stars while laying in my sleeping bag at night, watching the aurora sweep across the star-filled sky as I fell asleep.
-Having learned time-lapse photography, I figured I was ready to graduate to stop-motion, which I experimented with on a glacier. I learned very quickly what not to do, but got a decent result, nonetheless. Please watch it in HD.

October:
-Chuck Testa forever redefined what comes to mind when I hear the word 'nope.'
-My buddy Nick taught me how to hunt and quarter caribou. I taught him how to cold weather camp. It was the best trip ever. Literally.
-On the same trip, I put everything I knew to test on how to use canister stoves in cold weather. The finer points are what I learned.
-I mustered up the courage to do my first free-solo climb on ice and this year's first ascent of the Fox Creek waterfall.
-After doing some research, I found out everyone should leave their guns at home and just use bear spray.
-I learned the truth about plate tectonics.
-Girthy Thursdays became a popular event with the local fatbikers. We explore new trails every week.

November:
-Published the inaugural Fat & Happy Newsletter for Far North Fatbikes, J.R. & I's fatbike rental business.
-Sharing is wonderful and I hope my writing on a new fatbike tire, warm hands in cold weather, and clothing for winter biking was good, too.
-Brett & I had yet another failed winter trip, this time due to whiteout conditions.
-There were a few things learned while fatbike camping at 25 below.
-Fairbanks had an average temperature of -30.1 Fahrenheit from November 15-21. It was not only the coldest week during the month of November since 1930, but Fairbanks was also the coldest city in the world for most of the month. The temperature at my cabin never rose above -30F for over two weeks, and possibly more.
-I became the most frost-covered I have yet to experience on a 17 mile round-trip walk to town one night. I was bored in my cabin and needed to get outside. The cold weather had me cooped up indoors far too long, so I decided to walk to the store and get some ice cream, as I was fresh out. Dressed in wool from head to toe to fight the 25 below temperature, I traveled 17 miles in just under 6 hours! Here's what I wrote on Facebook when I returned at one o'clock in the morning:

'Just because I was walking the streets of Fairbanks at 10 pm, dressed in wool head to toe and my army surplus mukluks because it was 25 below, doesn't mean I'm homeless, so stop looking at me like that. Maybe my car wasn't plugged in and I just walked 8.5 miles to town because I really wanted some ice cream. Besides, honey maple nut tastes better petroleum-free.'

-It was -49F while biking to work one morning.

December:

-Put out the second edition of the Fat & Happy.
-A continual project, I figured out how to reduce my Alaskan summer basepack weight to under 10 lbs. A huge personal achievement. 
-I gave a public presentation at Goldstream Sports on Being Prepared: Misadventures in the Alaska Backcountry. It was my first in years and not only reminded me how fun they are, but also how much work goes into it.
-I moved out of my dry cabin to my friend's place 3/4 of a mile up the hill. I moved partially by dog team and now have better accommodations for them and myself.
-Mushing this month has taught me a lot about traveling with dogs.
-Fatbike rentals picked up some and J.R. & I continue to learn about operating a business.
-Immediately after publishing this post, I went out dog mushing and learned you can never have too much snowhook. I was supposed to be taking the dogs out for a run, not me!
-We all shared our thoughts about the right shelter for every condition. A perfect way to cap off the year's education and one of the most productive discussions I've had all year.
-And I heard the best quote of 2011 from this year's Heisman Trophy winner:

'The hotter the heat, the harder the steel. No pressure, no diamonds.'

This blog started 2011 at 2,000 page views and closes out the year at 18,000. Thank you. That is exactly why it still exists.

An even bigger thank you goes out to everyone who made this year what it was. So many incredible conversations and experiences with faces both new and old. Many memories were made with friends I hadn't seen in years.

2011 was a good year. I can only hope for 2012 to be even close to as good.

They're right about the Whites

In Interior Alaska, it's common knowledge that you don't really travel INTO the White Mountains National Recreation Area on foot, when there isn't snow covering the ground. Sure, there's a few hiking trails leading in a ways, but almost no one ever steps foot off of them, due to the tussocks, wet ground, thick brush, old burn areas, etc. It's really a winter rec area.
Well, I've had this 'great' idea of connecting the three major peaks of the White Mountains (map) - Cache, Lime, & Prindle - on a hiking trip... in summer. It would involve crossing Beaver Creek and hiking about 20 miles through the previously mentioned hell to get to the higher (& drier) ground. Follow the ridgelines east, then drop down from Prindle to Nome Creek Road, off the Steese Highway. About 75 miles, so since it's off-trail and has some bad hiking conditions, let's figure 5 days. That's 15 miles per day, which should be do-able, even with bad tussocks or brush, carrying a light load.
We managed to get the 20 miles in the first day, even with a noon start time, after shuttling the vehicles. However, day two, with steep ridgelines, long unstable rock slopes, and horrendously thick brush growing on some of the same unstable rock, kept us to only 11 miles before we had a circular conversation regarding whether or not we should continue, based on how 'good' the hiking was compared to the first day, but how slow we actually traveled over it. Considering even steeper terrain to come, knowing the Rocky Mountain (Lime Peak) region was potentially too rough/rocky to travel over (meaning we'd have to hike in the valleys, i.e., brush), and, since day two was so slow, realizing we would have to cover more miles per day over rougher terrain for the next three days, the decision was obvious to make a turn south and head back to the car the next day.
We woke up with our pride, over 25 miles from the trailhead where the car was parked, overlooking the wooded, brushy creek valley below. We'd follow the creek to the winter trail, take that to a cabin for a break, then haul butt over the terrain we had already covered the first day (and back across Beaver Creek), on our way to the car. Fortunately, I've pretty much been on this exact route three times in the past two winters, while biking the White Mountains 100 route. It was really cool to see it all in the summer and know where I was the whole time.
Yeah, I'll admit, the hiking was truly terrible in some sections for miles on end, by nearly everyone's standards. But, if you can suck it up and walk the uneven, wet ground to the high country, the hiking is pretty darn good up there if you can stay above the brush. It's a circular process of convincing yourself you're hardcore, both to do trips like this and by experiencing these (what some would call) uncomfortable conditions.
Overall, there are probably better places to go on long hiking trips in the summer, but I had really been wanting to see that country in summer, after having such incredible experiences out there in winter.
They're right about the Whites, but will I go back to try and complete the route? You betcha.

Side Note:
Regarding the rock & 'almost Aron Ralston-ed' incident from the video
While hiking one particularly unstable boulder slope, I thought, 'Gee, I should turn around and get a picture of Brett walking through that.'
As I was about to turn, I heard him yell, 'Ah!'
With, 'Are you ok?' on the tip of my tongue, he screamed, 'Dude, hurry, get the F--- over here!' The big boulder that moved when he stepped on it had just slid on the rock below, trapping and pinching his entire lower leg up against an even larger boulder. I scrambled the thirty-plus feet over to him as he threw off his pack, with bottles, etc, flying out into the surrounding boulders.
He was trapped, with no way of freeing himself.
I pushed, pulled, and lifted the boulder every way I could get a purchase on it. Nothing. Not even a release in pressure. It was big and I was starting to think I wouldn't be able to move it. There had to be a way.
I have a strong ability to tell my body to do something that I think is beyond it's capabilities and, somehow, be able to do it well. I knew I had to tap into that. My hands searched for a place to lift on the rock, hopefully, near his leg. Being blocky, there wasn't much to grab.
Then, I found a knob and placed both hands on it, stacked like a rock climber's, and pushed my left knee up against them, heaving upward with my entire body and every drop of adrenaline I had left.
'You got it! Keep going,' Brett yelled. I gave it all I had. With one last, desperate, screaming push, I watched Brett, out of the corner of my eye, throw his body forward, ripping his leg from the grasp of the two behemoths.
He said I never really moved the rock, but merely released the pressure of a couple hundred pounds of earth squeezing his bones. Sitting down, he removed the torn shoe and assessed his foot. After an initial broken bone scare, he realized one or two bones were probably just bruised (we think). In a few minutes, we were moving again, but seemingly 'hitting the emergency brake,' as Brett later said, every time we walked over the big rocks.

Mount McKinley: A Summit Unbagged

'On March 11, 2011, two inexperienced Fairbanksans set off to walk from their car to the summit of Mount McKinley. Packed light to travel fast & far, the team snowshoed to 17 Camp at the base of the West Ridge, where they battled overflow & high winds. A depleted Nalgene-bottled oxygen supply and unconsolidated sugar-snow conditions forced the team to retreat without the glory of the summit.'

Brett Parks & I are just now going public with an attempt at the summit of Mount McKinley without a permit, flight in to the glacier, climbing registration, talking with rangers, etc.
I have to say our plan has possibly never before been attempted in winter: to snowshoe from the road to the summit & back in three days, sleeping at 17 Camp both nights. While we weren't able to make the summit due to the snow conditions, we did sleep at 17 Camp and had an awesome time, learning a lot in the process.

Here are the photos...

 

 

 

 









Did we fool you?!?!
We attempted the 4,000 ft Mount McKinley off the Steese Highway, northeast of Fairbanks!
Hence, the reason Alaskans call the real one Denali.  HA!!!