There's nothing like a good midlife crisis: chuck it all, curvy Porsche and a blonde at your side as you mash the throttle and hit triple-digit speeds. Then again, some time on an adventure bike and sleeping next to bears seems like a great escape, too.

The sign is in bold black letters, and reads: "Stop. Authorized vehicles only." So we stop. We are in an Indian reservation called Mentasta Lake. Riding on the Alaska Highway from the Canadian border, we were heading southwest from the town of Tok on Hwy 1 until we came across this turn-off onto a lonesome, narrow, side road. Promising! It's 10 p.m., and still early enough by Alaskan standards to find a place to pitch our tent. The phenomenon of the midnight sun makes one day seem to last forever, a nice change from the hectic world we left behind. Up here, in the great north, we have not yet come across anyone complaining about not having enough time. It's the beginning of July and the sun never really sets. An abundance of light and sun does the weirdest things to your inner clock. Last night, we found ourselves wide-awake at three in the morning and craving a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs.

Tired, I stumbled into the airplane. Heading for Seattle on a BMW K 1200 GT, I had left Spokane at five o'clock in the morning. Four hours later, I spotted the city skyline, made for the airport and eventually fell into my seat totally worn out. Only a buzz of excitement about seeing Alaska could keep me awake. Our Boeing takes off. Seattle, the ocean and the many islands disappear behind a white curtain of cloud. And in a sense, so did I. The next thing I know, a flight attendant announces our landing in Anchorage. I had slept the entire flight.