Tuesday July 6 West of Mt Vernon Ill to Home Sweet Home
I may have mentioned that I don't usually have a large breakfast before riding. It makes me too sluggish.
Usually a couple of granola bars or maybe a small bowl of oatmeal is enough to soak up a little coffee and get me moving.
Oh..speaking of moving. There's another reason greasy breakfasts are not on my list.
This morning, however, the budget/free wi-fi/free breakfast roadside motel placed the free breakfast part really close
to the checkout counter and I was caught in a moment of weakness by the smell of sausage gravy. Hmmm. Waffles.
Sausage patties too! Black coffee and orange juice.
Another big difference in the US and Canada are the number of rest areas on our highways. I personally inspected
each one between Mt Vernon and Louisville Kentucky.
It heated up quickly this morning. I had all of the vents in my jacket opened and even unzipped to midpoint.
The Olympia AST was at it's limit for comfort at 90 degrees. Stopped in traffic at a construction zone I quickly started
planning an alternative route that would allow me to continue moving.
I had also lost my summer riding gloves last night. After looking for quite sometime I pulled out my waterproof
winter ones and cut my losses. They were removed after lunch resulting in brown hands to match my brown face.
Even with sunscreen.
Having home in the crosshairs is quite a motivator. I can be home tonight therefore I should be home tonight.
575 miles isn't the longest day I've done but certainly the longest in this heat. I've been consuming water at every
stop, which sometimes forces the next stop, but a must do.
Illinios, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, NC...
Louisville-Lexington-Berea-Morristown-Bean Station-Greenville-Home...Home
As soon as I left Greenville Tennessee and started down the mountains to the river the temperature dropped 10-15 degrees.
Ahh. The reason we live here.
Lush green-twisty roads-burbling creeks. Home.
I took advantage of the twisties. Even with the full load, the bike was packed evenly and handled them well.
Big smile.
A new calm came over me as I turned onto Jupiter road. 2.5 miles and three turns from home. Nearly five weeks
on the road and everything has changed. I noticed our hay field mowed. New mulch. New plants have emerged
and the late spring stuff has died back.
My yard was full of family. My sister Helen and her daughters Peyton and Patterson live a little farther down our
driveway and were there.
Mom, Dad, and of course my wife Cathy and son Eli were there.
Emily was camping with friends just a mile off of the road I had traversed just a half hour ago. She thought I
was coming in tomorrow.
Seeing my family there in the yard changed my perspective on this trip. The arctic circle suddenly became the half-way
point. Not the destination. This was the destination. Here is where the real gold is. Here is where
I want to be.
As I write this Wednesday morning. The mule still sits in the garage fully loaded. I'm very tired and very
sore and don't want the chore of pulling everything off her. She did good.
I'll follow up this last day entry with an epilogue and a couple of entries detailing what I would do differently, what
I would do the same and a promised gear review of both bike stuff and camping/traveling stuff.
Hi kids. Good to see you sweetie. Gimme a big hug and kiss.
There's my heart. This must be home.
Monday July 5 Kansas City Kansas to Mount Vernon Illinois
I lay in bed for a moment this morning remembering spreading out my wet duds around the industrial strength de-humidifier
running at full tilt to counter the effects of a water-in-the-basement issue Blake and Megan dealt with the previous week.
Megan came down the hall with the newest Hodges family member Charlotte. Megan was pregnant with Charlotte when
I last saw her in Chicago three years ago. Charlotte was bright eyed and slightly shy. When she sat down to her
bowl of cereal their beagle Isabel sat at attention sure to score a dropped or directed Cheerio. Blake returned from
a run to the store for fresh coffee and eggs- fodder for a eye opening ride this morning. We talked for some time before
Oliver shuffled out to see who the new voice belonged to. He is a micro version of his grandpa Tom.
Blakes sister Abby and her then fiance were quick to meet me in their neighborhood in Manhattan when I was there on business
a couple of years back. Clay and Lydia are amazing hosts and cooks and now I"m taking advantage of another Hodges residence
for the second time in a month. I'll have to hunt down their sister Lizzy and her husband-to- be soon for balance.
They get it honestly from their folks, Tom and Gail. I think I'll call it "Hodgepitality". Ha Ha..I just snorted
a little iced tea as I said that out loud.
I packed the bike as Oliver and Charlotte pushed all of the buttons and asked questions and compared the similiar
parts on my bike with their's. I poked the coordinates into my GPS and hefted on my now dry riding gear. I bid
my goodbyes with the always open invitation to join us in Western North Carolina for some country fun. Rolling out of
the drive into the beautiful neighborhood I couldn't help but recognize all of these homes as the cover page houses from
the 1960's "100 Beautiful House Plans" magazine. You remember. The really cool ones that might have a turret or
multiple angle foryer, or a slate courtyard. Usually in color on the front of the magazine in the line at the grocery.
Quickly rolling through mostly abandoned streets (everyone off for the holiday?) I hit I35 east toward Jefferson City
choosing to abandon the faster, busier east west interstate for this slower option with the possibility of some authentic
Kansas City BBQ.
Many miles with a windless, rainless, but hot day behind me and I'm rolling through St. Louis (gotta get that arch shot)
and on to Mount Vernon where I'm within a long day shot of home.
Thanks again Blake and Megan. Oliver and Charlotte, come see me anytime. Bring your beagle too!
Night Eli and Emily Rose. See you soon. Cathy, tomorrow is not soon enough.
PS. Those of you that saw the "Mexico 23 miles" sign on my facebook profile...just kidding. That's Mexico
Missouri. I'm crazy but...well we'll leave that alone.
Sunday July 4 Mitchell SD to Kansas City Kansas
The fourth of July. A time to conciously consider our freedoms. A time to be thankful for and exercise each
one with complete and confident composure.
It's 7am. I'm going to exercise my freedom to roll over in my $40 per night bed and go back to sleep.
The effects of the heavy rains and high winds were evident two hours later as plastic motel chairs were scattered around
the pool area and large puddles remained scattered about the parking lot.
Reed's bike was gone but given the girth of the GS I don't expect that it blew away. Reed is probably near Chamberlain
SD by now with his "Santa meets ZZ Top" whiskers wrapped around his collar.
Options here. Either head east and follow the storm front that extends from Texas to Michigan with a chance of
getting in the middle and having it around me all day...or...head south and punch through it.
If I get in rain then get out what gets wet usually dries in the breeze. Getting wet and stopping that way guarantees
the riding duds are wet in the morning.
South it is.
Sioux Falls- where I have several customers and co-workers probably getting ready for a cookout and horseshoes.
Do they do horseshoes in the midwest? I'll have to ask.
Sioux City...
The low cloud cover is interuppted occasionally by my helmet. The KLR's 36" seat height ensures I sit higher than
all cars and most SUV's. It also puts me in the path of side winds not unlike riding a billboard.
Omaha. Gotta head west for a while and circle the city to see it from all angles. A couple of signs with
Warren Buffett hawking a college, hotel, or hair gell litter the landscape. When you mention Omaha in casual conversation
either Wild Kingdom or Berkshire Hathaway is sure to be the topic followed.
South Dakota, Iowa, Nebraska, Missouri in just a few hours.
Rain. Spitting but expected I push on until it becomes too strong.
I stop at a gas station to fuel up and use the phone to call my friend Blake Hodges in KC. I wanted to stop in,
say hi, and see Megan his wife, Oliver his son (haven't seen him in three years), and his daughter Charlotte whom I have never
seen. The plan was to push on into the heart of Missouri to camp later. Phone call made but line for fuel and
I headed south.
Heavy rain and the Australian gal in the GPS sent me west of St Joseph where no fuel stops exist like on the interstate
east side. Just in town an accident meant I had to stop riding for 15 minutes.
When riding, I can find a speed that sends most of the rain up and over me but stopped, even with my rain gear on, I
quickly become saturated. Luckily the temp is warm so I just get very wet.
By the time I rejoined I29 it was getting dangerous. I stopped at a truck stop, fueled up under the cover
then moved the bike over to a diesel bay that was out of service.
Asking the attendent if it was OK to sit this out for a while was greeted and answered with a "take a load off" "truckers
lounge in the back". I wandered through the american flag stickers, racks of various novelty sweatshirts, CB radio paraphernalia,
mini doses of toothpaste, shaving cream, and anti-perspirant, and a rack of dusty sunglasses to find a large screen TV and
three similar sized truck drivers leaning into an episode of CSI Miami. No one spoke or glanced up but leaned around
me as I walked by to drop my soaking gloves, coat, and helmet on a bent wood cafe table.
The storm outside was almost as loud as the TV and the muffled sound of the wind's effect on the roof was met with the
occasional glance up to the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. Still no one spoke...until the power flickered off- then
on- then off..off.
A choreographed string of swear words came in waves from all three truckers. I'm not sure if CSI Miami is still
in production but by the reaction of these burly men, it was the last episode. Ever.
The small smokey room was dimly lit by the emergency exit sign and the conversation turned to speculation about the ending.
Wyatt was a slight man with very thick glasses and a midwest accent. He brushed off the importance of the show
but kept offering potential scenarios for ending.
K.W.'s "body by Hardees" physique melted into the sole recliner with his cleanest pair of cut-off sweat pant shorts,
black socks, nameless white tennis shoes, and- with my hand on my heart- a Partridge Family tee shirt. K.W. is not his
real name but he mentioned more than a few times that his Kenilworth was THE truck for the Rocky Mountains. Or
flat lands. Or flatbeds, hogwagons, or boxes.
The other fellow, whom I will call "the mute" only said one word..."Horatio" Then only when Wyatt and K.W. were
trying to remember the red-headed guy's name on CSI to no avail. The Mute lit one cigarette with the one he was finishing
and slept between drags.
Suddenly Wyatt said "you either walked from the highway or rode on a motor cickle" The three men seemed to just
then notice that I was in the room. K.W. asked where I was from and where I was going which turned into a conversation
about the attributes of the roads I had traveled. They had hauled on them all and knew just where each deer, elk, and
moose were hiding. At least those that they hadn't already hit.
The attendant wandered back with her flashlight a couple of times. Maybe to check if we were still there...I don't
know.
About an hour after the lights went out, they flickered...on...off. Off.
We got up and lit our way back to the front of the truck stop with our cell phones. A few other travelers had taken
refuge in the store, now lit with a florescent camp lantern, and stood with their hands in their pockets lamenting about a
particular storm they had experienced with long periods of silence, and staring out at the sheets of rain only illuminated
by the headlights of the next truck to join the marooned.
K.W noticed the stash of leftover fireworks- South Carolina grade- shelved next to the door with a "sale" sign hanging
above. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time for a show".
Without prompt, each of us started going through our wallets for enough money to purchase the entire lot and a couple
of bic lighters. The chain smoking late night attendant barked "keep 'em away from the pumps boys".
I watched from a distance as "The Mute" lit the first few from the protection of the awning until one went off under
it then an umbrella was empolyed to move the launch site a little farther away from Miami to the remote Cape Kennedy in the
middle of the dirt (now mud) parking lot. A fireworks stand across the interstate thought this was a challenge and began
going through their stock turn by turn.
Each barrage was met with appalause and hoots as our team didn't hesitate to light two or three of the big box multi
shot $45 retail ($20 sale) units at a time.
The explosives ran out just as the rain bled to a trickle. I called Blake to see if his offer to spend the night
was still good as I really didn't want to camp on the cafe bench in the truckers lounge. Blake said he would leave the
garage door open and to "bring it on"
Ten miles into a fourty mile trek from St. Joseph to Kansas City the rain came back with a vengance. I was already
wet and well committed to the ride so I pressed on into the most tense leg of my entire trip so far. I don't usually
ride at night. Certainly when it's raining. Certainly not on a night where drivers might be coming from a party.
I broke all of my rules at one time as I navigated the ramps, cloverleafs, and by-passes at highway speeds in a downpour trying
to avoid the super slick painted lines on the road. The Australian lady in my GPS seemed a little more serious now as
she guided me through the woven roads of Kansas City to the port of calm at Blake and Megans home.
At midnight I pulled into Blakes garage with the help of Blake and his flashlight on the curb out front. The human
body is inherently waterproof so I had that going for me.
Changing quickly into dry civies Blake and I sat in the living room and spent some time catching up. I soon retired
to the fresh sheets and pallet Blake and Megan had set up in their basement. Some log like sleeping will happen tonight.
Goodnight kids. Couple of more days baby. Love you.
Saturday July 3rd Rapid City SD to Mitchell SD
As promised I broke camp early and back-tracked to the Powersports dealership to have the new Shinko 705 rear tire installed.
As promised Keith and Jeff took me right in and began work on the tire as well as checking out the chain that I had problems
getting tight (or too tight) in the past few days. The BMW at home doesn't have those problems as it is shaft drive.
One of the many reasons the GS guys have me stuttering to justify a chain. It's tough to get it just right by yourself
on the road.
The guys at Powersports in Rapid City knocked out the service in no time flat. We talked about my trip so far as
they remembered me stopping by to get a recharge kit for my air filter on the way up. Thanks again guys!
Because of the carb problems I had in Western SD on the up trip, I had only had a glancing blow in the Badlands.
I intended today to scrub in the new tire with the full tour.
I hit 44 on the way in and saw a small dirt road to the left. On the topo map this road wound for 20 miles or so
into the heart of the Badlands. Not a problem. Problem. The road was covered with 3-4 inches of fresh pea
gravel. It was more like skiing than riding. 20 mph for the entire ride. The heavy top load on the pacmule
was very evident for this part of the trip. Soon the road dropped into the park and while this section was still unpaved,
it was more heavily traveled and navigable tracks were an option. The Badlands are much like the surface of a foreign
planet. Pictures won't do it justice but you can see some in the pic link to the left. Erosion has exposed layers
of sediment and the effects of deposition have opened up the most concentrated fossil bed in the US. Of course taking
any fossils or rocks from the park is a big no-no. My plan to ride through and see the park in a couple of hours were
sidelined by my inability to pass a photo op or ignore a trail head. I walked several 1-2 miles trails in riding boots
and pants causing my feet to demand notice this evening.
I didn't exit the park until nearly 2pm. Praire dogs were everywhere and would do a little dance and squeal to
communicate. Another would pop up and do the same little dance. Like whack-a-mole it was near impossible to catch
them in action with a camera.
A bighorn sheep and her offspring (kid?) lounged on a rock almost out of sight. A family took some time to point
them out to me. "see the small green bush...three o'clock and just up there" No sorry..." See the V in the
mountain? Go down just a little then over that far" Sorry, I really am but I don't see them. " Ok...look
at the three bushes and the white place on the hill...then go down and to the right" Bless their patience. I finally
saw them blended into the infinite color of the rock strata. They were moving from Illinois to southern California and
this trip took them through some nice places.
Three ladies on three bikes (Harley, Suzuki, and BMW) were parked at an overlook and we took turns snapping shots with
each others cameras. (forgive me for not remembering names, did I know?) They were members of "Motor Maids" a female
riding club founded in 1948. The were on their way from Nashville to Wyoming for a rally. Looked like they were
having a ball.
More miles slabbed on I90 east with little wind and no rain. I caught up with a Concours rider, Randy, at
the exit to the park and we hop-scotched all the way to Mitchell where he was staying the night on his way to points north
to visit a friend. I stopped in Mitchell to find the nearest state campsite near Sioux Falls but none were close.
All of the private sites are filled due to the July 4 weekend. I really wanted to push on at least that far but even
the motels were full or wanted premium prices for the privilage.
A chance call to the Siesta Motel back up the road a mile scored a room for $40 with wi/fi and a microwave. My
last can of Chef-boyardee noodles and meat balls were the fare of the evening.
Concidently, a BMW GS1150 was parked next to my room and it was bestickered with Team Pterodactyl logos. Team Pterodactyl
was a club started by Griz from Spearfish, where I spend time yesterday. Griz mentioned a friend from east was on his
way in and it was here I bumped into Reed. Reed is from the Detroit area, a large soft spoken fellow with a straight
white beard that is a lighting expert for live theater in the area. Summers are the off season so he
gets time out for good behavior. He is meeting Griz and another "dactyl" coming in a few days behind me from Dawson
at Griz's pad before continuing on to the BMW MOA rally in Redmon Washington. I could have sat in the plastic chairs
in front of the motel for hours talking to Reed but hunger pangs and the need for a shower moved me to demarcate the conversation
with wishes for a safe ride tomorrow.
Reed covered his bike and mentioned some weather might be coming in but I decided to leave mine uncovered...until the
marquee scrolled across the tv screen that a front was moving through with damaging winds, hail and flood warnings.
I covered my bike too. An hour later the 4th of July started early with heavy lightning, powerful winds and sheets of
rain. Man I'm glad I'm not in a tent somewhere in the middle of a praire tonight. I'm not sure if a tornado can
tell the difference between RV's and mobile homes.
Good night Emily and Eli (thanks Eli for taking care of the sound system this week)(great job on the grades too!)
Night baby. I'm officially one time zone away from you now. See you soon.
Friday July 2 Hardin Montana to Rapid City South Dakota
The wind died down during the night and a dewless dry Montana prarie morning meant a quick camp breakdown and fuel up
by 7am. Good windless riding in the morning but heading east means the sun in my face for a while.
I had a choice to make. Safe big I95 south to Wyoming or little winding remote 212 across the Northern Cheyenne
reservation. The thought of 75mph on hot tarmac for the next 250 miles caused me to aim east and take the smaller more
desolate road. This is an extension of 212 south of Billings that the late Charles Kuralt called "the most beautiful
drive in America".
Three villages in the 230 mile shortcut across eastern Montana, Wyoming, and into South Dakota were mostly made up of
small collections of mobile homes, box houses, one pump fuel stations, and maybe a saloon. I'm sure these saloons cater
to the crowd from Sturgis that venture out from the herd each year. The random anti-meth slogans and posters lends creedance
to the stories I have heard about the addictions many First Nation residents suffer and the toll on family and community.
This is heart-breaking as the native people I have met have been helpful, humble, and interested in sharing their story.
These very tough people have gotten the short end of the stick from us immigrants for so long I'm suprised they are interested
in even talking to me.
I had the name of a friend of Dawson Dick that lived in Spearfish and since I was coming right through the heart of that
wonderful little town I decided to stop by unexpectedly and say hello. It was as if they new I was coming. Griz
and his lovely wife Sherry opened the door to their covered porch and brought me in like I've known them all of my life.
Griz and Sherry own and operate a Grizzly Sign and Design Studio, and have both ridden bikes and know the local area
like the back of their hand. Griz asked me if I had ridden the Spearfish Canyon Road. I wasn't sure if I had but
I had criss-crossed the Black Hills on the way up. After looking at the map it was clear that I hadn't. Sherry
said that I had to ride that road. They were very very right. This road winds through the north eastern quadrant
of the Black Hills and although the speed limit is 35mph, you really want to twist the right grip a little more and lean a
little more and smile a little more. It was a good thing for my budget (no tickets) that there were a line of crusier
bikes that had their hands full with the posted limit.
I had intended to be at Powersports motorcycle dealership in time to spoon on a new rear tire before the evening
was done but pulled in fifteen minutes after closing. Keith, the parts manager was closing up and checked
to see if the tire was on the shelf. It was and we agreed to hit it first thing in the morning.
Googling for a campsite I found the Lazy J on top of the mountain over looking Rapid City. Ashley checked
me in and Frank jumped on the humvee golfcart and showed me to a great little tent site.
Supper was at the Colonial House, a well established restaurant where $12 got me a flank steak, salad
with home-made blue cheese dressing, a loaf of home-made cheese sausage bread, and roasted garlic. Take that Canada.
Quite possibly the best meal of the trip short of those from the Atwells, Cannadys, and Pressleys.
Off to bed. Gotta tire up and cover about 500 miles tomorrow.
Night all. Sweet dreams sweetie.
Again the wind was brutal. Fighting the bars and leaning into the wind for three hours is a workout that needs
to be patented. Figure this one out somebody. There's a fortune to be made. "The Ronco dirtbike-in-a-windstorm
body shaper. Call now and receive a free
Thursday July 1 Great Falls MT to Hardin MT
Well it's official. My butt fell off today. Not sure what happened but when I shook out my riding pants it
blew out and skated across the prarie like a plastic grocery bag. I tried a couple of times to step on it but it was
gone in a flash. Just my two hip bones and that little tail thing on the end of my spine. At least the bones have
no feeling. Not sure how long it will take to grow one back.
I took my time at the fifty dollar camp sight. Taking advantage of their pancake breakfast in the Hoe-Down Cabin next
to the Wash Stone Cabin where I did a load of well needed laundry. I wandered over to the Wild West Swimmin' Hole with
slide and streams of water that squirted up from the battlefield that included a fort and water cannon.
RV kids would love this place. Check out is eleven o'clock. I checked out at eleven o'five. Take that!
I gave the bike a good going over before heading up to the river to see the series of falls that gave the town it's name.
Lewis and Clark spent a lot of time here because of the numerous game and to have a base to send scouts out to look for a
good place to cross the mountains. On the way back from the falls, my clutch cable frayed and became stuck in
the cable. I had an extra so a fifteen minute tools-on-the-ground regiment and I was back on the road.
89 south from Great Falls follows the Lewis and Clark path through the Lewis and Clark forest. I bet they were
surprised to see that. What a coincidence!
Long sweeping asphalt through a seven thousand foot pass then a sudden drop to the gorge lay in front of me. After
taking this long way around and knowing this was a short riding day, I decided to see what the little dirt road on the left
had in store. Visiting a topo map showed it cutting off a great portion of the road ahead. About seventy miles
in all, the road was slippery from the small dry round stones that made up the surface. Probably a ball in a rally car
but a handful on a fully loaded bike. Stilll, it was a beautiful ride and put me in shot of Bilings before dark.
Back on the pavement I saw a storm brewing with quite a light show ahead. According to my GPS a small town was
just ahead with the possiblity of some kind of shelter. I was thrilled to see an old drive-in just seconds before the
bottom dropped out. Dry bike under the abandoned shelter and fresh pie on the counter inside. Cell service to
boot!
When the storm passed I met up with a fellow dual sport rider Greg coming from Glacier where he was riding with his friend.
His friend continued up into Canada but Greg had to head back to Nashville to his job as a mortgage officer at Regions Bank.
I was going to camp in Billings but he suggested pushing on to Hardin where he had a reservation at a KOA. I agreed
to meet him there and stopped to look for a quarter inch drive extention to replace the one laying in a dirt parking
lot somwhere in America.
When I got to Hardin, Greg already had his cabin and a pizza I can only guess he picked up on the way. I went down
to the tent city and set up in a windstorm while the lightning played just in the distance.
Greg and I sat on his cabin porch and chowed some beef and jalapeno pizza, swapping riding stories but I needed to log
on and write a little so we bid each other safe riding and I walked back to the tent in the dark. That's when I shook
out my riding pants and my butt blew away. I'm going to miss it.
Good night all. Miss you dearly baby.
))ednesday June 30 Calgary Alberta to Great Falls Montana
Gotta get across the Canadian/American border today. I hear that on Canada Day everything closes and things get
fun. Don't know how much more fun I can take.
Lot's of wind early in the ride. Alberta is like a great big Minnesota. Large farms with larger vistas that
go on forever. The Canadian Rockies are tiny peaks on my right (which happens to be the way I'm leaning all morning)
and grasslands to my left. Interesting fissures in the earth every now and then can probably be attributed to erosion
but I'm not sure.
Just head down riding all morning until I see a sign "Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump national monument. How can one
pass up a chance to see what this is all about.
Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is the location where Native Americans used to prep for winter by herding buffalo through
cairns to a cliff where they fell into piles to be processed for food and supplies. Ten dollars for entry was well spent.
This sight is on the must see list from UNESCO along with the pyramids, Taj Mahal, and other really cool stuff. The
work that went into developing the sight and ensuring that the info transfered is correct is remarkable.
Cross the border with no issues.
I forget that night actually happens down this low so I find myself rolling into Great Falls well after dark looking
for the Great Falls park and campground. Nice park but no campground. A fellow recommended the local KOA just
down the road so as the time neared ten thirty, I pulled in for a quick spot.
The terribly nice young man at the desk gave me the paper to fill out while he rambled on about the amenities.
The sound of my chin hitting the counter when he told me the fee for a tent site would be fifty dollars woke many in the campground.
No turning back now.
The site was pretty cool with a shelter, granite counter tops, coffee maker, power, water, and locking storage.
The cooking site next to it had Jenn-Air ranges with granite tops as well. Still.
At eleven pm I had set up a tent in the dark and followed the strong smell of clorine across a hedge row and over a fence
to the closed hot tub. I dare them to run me out.
What was an over priced site at midnight turned out to be Disney World in the morning. Check out their website.
KOA Great Falls.
Night night Eli and Emily. Much closer Cathy.
Tuesday June 29, woods south of Grande Prarie to north of Calgary Alberta Canada
Little dew this morning so after a vigorous shaking of everything in the tent and the tent itself to make sure mouse
poop wouldn't make its way to my next camp I loaded and prepared to leave.
Martin's heavy snoring was still flapping his tent as I checked the air in the tires and plugged in the next coordinates...
"mernin...winna coop eh cahfee?" I pondered his offer for a few seconds before fiending bad hearing and asking
him to repeat himself. "cahfee, winna coop eh cahfee afer ye goo?" Ah coffee!
Thanks Martin but no thanks. It interrupts my first 200 morning miles before I'm somewhere that doesn't require
a shovel to take a break.
We bid our safe ride farewells and I turned back up the rocky road to the Alaska Highway.
A quick stop in Grande Cache for fuel and my standard question "so what's this town famous for?". The lady behind
the counter responded "why the Canadian Death Race?" Apparently the Death Race is a 125k foot race that crosses rivers
and has a 17,000 foot elevation change. Much of the course is above 4000 feet.
I don't think I want to compete in anything that contains the word "death".
Martin pulled in for fuel as I was leaving. He is taking the western path back down the Icefields Parkway, my route
north, as I peel off east to continue down 40 towards Edmundton Alberta.
I soaked up the changes in topography and geology for the next 200 miles. Things flattened out a bit to reveal
a Minnesota like terrain with large grain bins and fields of unknown crops in every shade of green.
Clouds of all shapes and sizes filled the growing sky. Bob Ross must have been on weather duty today in heaven.
He used all of God's titanium white and phthalo blue on these monsters balancing them softly on the magic pane of glass suspended
a few thousand feet above terra firma. Bob pulled out his big brush to smear the bottoms of a few into the ground.
These pockets of rain stayed just to my right or left for miles. It was as if the road was being built quickly
in front of me by a crew that forgot their raincoats. My luck ran out just east of Edmunton.
While zigzaging south and east to avoid the big city, I found myself entering a large dark void. What started as
sharp peppers of rain suddenly turned to strong winds and small hail. Then large hail. Then rain so hard traffic
could not proceed. I don't mind the wet but when the lightning started popping around me I had to bail in the other
direction. There was no shelter anywhere so moving was the only way to escape the brunt of the storm.
This storm didn't burn itself out like most do but this one settled into a steady pour. I turned at the next road
that had a sign restaurant and four more turns led me to the town of Winfield. Three farm related stores, a small park,
and a smaller building with a dry front porch and simple sign that said "Restaurant" drew me to the side to leave the bike
to suffer the elements and rush to the porch to shed several wet layers. A cup of coffee and slice of pie later it looked
like the worst of it had passed. I wanted to put in a few more miles to look for a dry place to camp but the farther
south I rode the wetter it got.
Bluebird Motel- Way off the beaten path but $36 per night with wi/fi. And so I finish another day wimping
out in a roadside roadhouse with a shower. I can handle being a wimp. Hope my account can.
Hope to make the Montana border tomorrow as Canada Day is July 1. The whole country shuts down.
Night night Emily Rose and Eli Beckwith. All my love Cathy Jean. :-)
Monday June 28 Fort Nelson BC to somewhere south of Grande Prarie
Fort Nelson being the hub of industrial BC is not a place to hang around sniffing the air and taking in the surroundings.
A quick Powerbar and water and I'm heading south.
Yesterday's ride throught the lower Alaska Highway was refreshing and made it easy to put in a lot of miles. I
hope for the same today.
Early on the Alaska Highway gets back into the routine of lots of space between small villages. The scenery begins
with long spanning vistas but quickly immerses the traveler deep in the gorges and peaks of the Canadian Rockies to the west
of the main road. A spitting rain keeps the camera away for all but the most handsome photo ops but stopping every now
and then to listen, smell, and soak was the order of the day.
I didn't see the number of animals today that I did yesterday. I think the span up to Ft. Nelson had the most animals
per mile of anywhere on my trip to this point. At one point I quit even looking at the buffalo. The first was
a brake grabber. The next was a few together then a herd. Then they were everywhere. Not very fast though
so no issues with hitting them as long as you prepared for each turn.
At Dawson Creek, not to be confused with Dawson City where I was based the previous week, the "Mile 0" for the Alaska
Higway sgn was promently displayed in several places in town. A quick sandwich and stop at the Polaris store for oil
and a borrowed pan resulted in a quick service and the begining of the next 200 miles.
At 9:30 I noticed a dirt road that left the highway and dove down a bank towards a river. As many times in the
past few weeks, this would provide a place to bush camp. The prettiest places to camp so far have been these unmarked
logging roads or goat paths off the main road. I started a small fire, set up camp, and consumed a pot of chef-boyardee
lasgana and meatballs. A quick look around for bear signs and locking up the washed pans and extra food
in my top box I heard the sound of a motorcycle coming. It had to be a fellow ADV rider as it was quiet and could
make it down the stoney rutted road to my camp.
The mad Irishman Martin whom I had met at our camp in Dawson City popped his helmet and joined my by the fire.
Martin came to the states a few years ago from his farm in Ireland near Cork and works in San Francisco. He and
I had hopscotched each other back down the Alaska Highway. In his thick Irish accent that took a while to distill, he
was quick to offer a beer from his heavy stock in his seemingly bottomless side case. In spite of being ready to
hit the sleeping bag, I accepted his offer for one (to his five) and we talked until midnight about tractors, farming,
engines, politics, and his plans to possibly move back to Ireland and start where he left off.
I saw the first stars, and near darkness, that I had seen in a few weeks. It's amazing what a thousand miles
of latitude does for normalizing my biocycles.
At three am I thought I heard something walking around outside my tent and discovered what I thought was a large moth
flitting around the mesh inner layer. I rolled over and went back to sleep only to be awakened an hour later by the
critter. Fishing around for my cell phone to provide a little light I found a small mouse clinging to the bug screen
looking for a way out. He had already chewed a thumb-sized hole in the corner of the tent. I zipped
open the door and he scurried out. I don't eat or drink in the tent so he must have been disapointed. The
next morning I saw where he had left little presents around the inside of the tent. That rascal must have
walked all over my sleeping bag. I shook everything out for a long time.
Look for me soon guys. Love you babe.
Sunday June 27 Teslin YT to Fort Nelson BC
I noticed last night that rain would be moving in early today and I didn't sleep well listening for the first drops.
They arrived at 4pm so I jumped up and packed the tent while it was somewhat dry. 15 minutes from opening the tent door
to having a loaded bike.
The fuel pumps didn't open until 7pm and I wasn't going to wait in the rain. I had a half of a tank and a full
1 gallon jug onboard as well as the standby liter mounted on the crash bars. That should be more than enough to get
me to the first fuel opportunity- Swift Creek.
I rode slower than usual because of the amount of wildlife about at dawn before, with the exception of a few brave souls,
disappear into the woodland. 150 miles of desolation later I saw a sign "Swift Creek" with the international symbols
for fuel, bathrooms, and food. Another sign covered all of the above. Closed. Forever.
Quick calculations of the remaining fuel indicated that I could proceed at 30mph and make the next fuel stop on my list.
I hope they are open on Sunday. I didn't have enough to make it to Watson Lake so I might be knocking on camper doors
for handouts.
While puttering at moped speed along the rainsoaked tarmac in pretty rough shape, I caught a glimpse of something to
my right and upon turning saw a large bull moose running somewhat along side.
When you scream like a little girl in a full face helmet it hurts your ears. My camera is stored in the dry safety
of my tank bag so the best I could do is grab a handful of brakes and watch him turn to look at me then scoot off into the
brush. Wow is he big. I remember he was looking down at me like I was a toy.
I put the last liter of fuel into the bike at Cool Creek. Just around the next bend, at 7am, a new service station/cafe
had just opened for business. The leathery lady that was unlocking the pumps said I was wet and to quit hugging her.
She offered hot coffee as an alternative to her affections. Works for me.
After one of Friday's leftover muffins, strong coffee and all fuel containers filled to the brim, I entered the lonesome
road and continued the same half-throttle pace to see/avoid the critters.
Watson Lake with it's now familar sign post forest was the next stop. I fueled up again and was quite proud that
I had covered 250 miles and it was only 9am. Another cup of muddy coffee and I was on my way to Liard hot springs.
They were another 180 miles ahead but I thought that would be a good half-way point for my day and a dip in the springs might
get the chill out of my bones I've been feeling all morning.
I couldn't help but to think about the record highs the folks back home have been experiencing for the past couple of
weeks. I don't think I've seen a high above 62 since I left home. Most mornings have been from freezing to about
40. I get the metric temperature thing just fine. 0 is when water freezes- 100 is when it boils. It's just
the numbers in between that gives me a headache when trying to compute. It's not as easy to translate as distance or
volume.
With the pungent loamy smell of the deep forest amplified by the rain providing a contrast to the dry absence of smell
from the "high desert" of the far north, I pressed on south east. The random album selection logic of my gps/mp3 player
chose for me Charlie "Yardbird" Parker's One Night in Birdland. Good choice. Smooth bebop and smooth showers.
This followed by the Cowboy Junkies Trinity Sessions and Aretha.
I like the serendipity of random music choices when I ride. It's a soundtrack of the trip not dictated by me and
is a surprise. As much as I love being amazed by the views that unfold before me on a motorcycle, I smile at the choices
my mp3 player makes from my 650 albums as I ride. Sometimes.
When I was crossing the high mountain pass followed by John in a rental car to Ennis Montana, the Austrialian lady that
gives me directions (I reckon she's the one that chooses the music) pumped the Beach Boys into my helmet. This while
I was being pelted by sleet and freezing rain in very very cold conditions.
The Australian lady had a little fun with me in Gillette Wyoming. Gillette is cowboy land. When I pulled
into a little gas station/horse tack shop to refuel, Hank Williams Greatest Hits was playing. Alrighty then. When
I removed the headphone jack to pump the fuel, the Australian lady had a little fun with me. When I unplug the headphone
jack, the music comes out of the GPS speaker. She chose a song from a compilation of show tunes from a play that Cathy
and I saw. Just as I began pumping gas, Liza Minnelli burst out in "Ring Them Bells". The cowboys glanced over
at me for another look.
I fully expected them to break out into a Busby Berkley routine- arm in arm with a grace reserved for the stage.
I was three menu layers from the stop button or volume control at the quickest.
Lots of buffalo on the roads today. Those are big like moose but with fatter heads and shorter legs. The
little ones are cute.
I saw so many bear that I didn't even slow down to take a closer look. I do still wave at them though.
Three hours from Watson Lake, I pulled into Liard hot springs. The rain stopped. Just like that. What
to wear....hmmm. I chose a pair of nylon pack pants that the legs zip off. The guy from Georgia that pulled up
on a Harley behind me decided his red BVD bikini briefs would work just fine. As far as anyone was concerned, he was
the only one at the springs.
A ten minute walk down a board path led me to a kidney shaped natural pool about 125 feet long and 25 feet wide.
The upper end was where the hot water (enought to boil an egg) entered the pond so the closer you got to it the hotter the
water. I started with the side that the old ladies and men with heart conditions were paddling around in. I moved
quickly toward the hottest part until I began feeling like a shrimp. I was certainly the whitest person in the water
having been in full bike gear for three weeks. My face had a nice racoon tan from the face shield and sunglasses.
Now I was turning a nice translucent pink all over. Tartar. Done. I moved back down with the old ladies.
The guy from Georgia must have left. Everyone is talking again. Only a dozen or so folk in here this morning.
As I was leaving a school bus pulled up and they were off in a sprint down the long wood path for a certain cannonball.
That will give them the old folk something to shut up about.
Three hundred more miles through the Canadian Rockies on the Alaskan Highway finished my day. One $15 dollar hamburger,
five gallons of $1.79 per liter fuel at the only stop for 200 miles in each direction. I hope they choke on that money.
More expensive than what I paid on the Dempster Highway.
The last provencial campsite in the Rockies was cold and wet so I pressed on the next 50 miles to Fort Nelson.
Hopefully they will have another site near town.
Not going to happen. The "town" sites were full. Sites for 100 miles are full. I started checking motels.
What is it with this town...Almost all motels are full and those that are not are terribly pricey for the dives most of them
are. Even the Motel 6 wanted $150 for a room. I had to ask the guy at the counter "why"?
Fort Nelson is experiencing it's annual seasonal influx of workers for the logging and gas field work. They fill
the campgrounds with their RV's, tents, and pick-up trucks, and even rent motel rooms for the season. They can charge
these prices because of the healthy wages paid these workers.
I got a ground room in a six unit building in the parking lot of a tire store for $75. A budget buster. Dried
Thai noodles for me this week.
But it does have fast wi/fi so here I am- catching up.
1% Chocolate Milk and a weird Canadian candy bar for supper tonight.
Goodnight Emily and Eli. Hug mom for me. Cathy, pretend it's me with a shave. Love you.
Saturday June 26 Dawson YT to Teslin YT
While Dave retrieved my spare tire from the campsite we occupied earlier in the week, I loaded the mule and bid my farewell
to old friends and new. Larry Correll, whom I met in Asheville last year and keeps a home there and in Venice Florida,
was heading in a round about way home on his GS. Dick VanNostrom (sp?), previous owner and man about town was sweeping
the road back to normal.
Dave decided to go back across the Top of the World road and visit southern Alaska on his way back to Boone via California.
I've only known Dave for a week but we've quickly become friends. He's quite a character and a hell of a lot of fun.
Dave, you've been a great wingman even though you fly a c-130 transport :-).
I wanted to get to Teslin YT and the cheap wi/fi campsite I used on the way up. I arrived to find the campground
full and after pleading with the proprieter got a site between holes 3 and 4 in their putt-putt course.
Just lots of miles and the expected roadside wildlife show today. Early to bed as the wi/fi was being used by so
many people I couldn't get access to the blog.
I'm ready to hear English as a first language and use money that doesn't look like I stole it from a Monopoly game.
I have to go through my receipts each day to make sure I didn't wad up a fiver as trash. They have no singles only "Loonies",
a dollar coin with a loon on the back, and "Toonies" a two dollar coin that looks like a cookie.
Nighty night kids, be home in a couple of weeks baby. Love you.
Friday, June 25 Dawson and local attractions
One of the locals said that when the Harley Riders come to town the bars and gift shops get all the money. When
the BMW or ADV riders come to town, the museums and campgrounds get all the money.
While a sanctioned run started near noon today, dozens of us decided to take in a tour of the No. 4 gold dredge just
outside of Dawson.
After the Klondike gold rush subsided because the easy gold was "panned" out or the diggers weren't getting the stuff
out at the pace needed to sustain the effort, dredges were brought in to rip up and automatically "pan" the earth to a few
feet below bedrock. This process leaves huge piles of rock that when viewed from air looks like the pattern of
a brain. These dredges, up to four stories in height, are floated in a pond while a chain of large buckets dig back
and forth to a depth into the bedrock dozens of feet down. When all of the earth within reach of the bucket chain is
panned, the dredge is moved a few feet to begin the process again. A map showed where the No. 4 dredge started back
in 1910 and where it wound up in 1959. Facinating mechanics and amazing process for steampunk technology.
Many of us rode up to the Dome. This high mountain above Dawson allows a 360 degree view of the town, Klondike
and Yukon rivers and three mountain ranges in it's periphery.
Back in Dawson, a steak dinner at the Palace Grand Theater awaited us. The Palace Grand is one of many buildings
built during the gold rush. One of the historians in town said many of the local dance hall gals would dance with
a miner for $1. That's $720 in today's money. I saw an old menu that listed a bowl of soup and bun for $5. That's
enough in today's money to buy any one of our cars.
After the dinner the serious games begin.
Slow drag racing down main street. Who can drive the slowest without touching their feet down while staying in
their lane.
Tight slalom. Ride feet up through traffic cones .
Rider on back tries to take a bite of a hot dog hanging from a fishing line.
A paper plate is placed in the middle of the road. A rider is blindfolded and tries to stop with his/her
front wheel on the plate.
You know, high brow stuff like that.
At midnight the big finale. All the bikes line up on mainstreet for a group picture and the official "Dust to Dawson
2010" decals are presented for all that participated.
Dawson was then quickly turned into the ghost town it was in the 60's.
Dawson is well worth a visit for the history, local hiking, local color, and stunning scenery. Bring your wallet
loaded because like the rest of Northern Canada, the prices reflect the transportation involved for both durable goods and
consumables. Expect gas to be $1.40 per liter (3.78 liters to the gallon). You do the math. RVs are everywhere
and come from everywhere.
My plans initially had my northern run happening in Alaska but with my schedule I chose the Yukon and Dempster road instead.
After talking to others that went up the Dalton in Alaska, I'm glad I chose this option. The Dalton was busy, dusty,
muddy, and miserable all at the same time. Tomorrow means loading up and pointing South. My trip is half complete.
My real destination is home. That's where my gold is.
Goodnight E and E. Love you C
Thursday June 24 Dawson YT to Chicken Alaska to Dawson YT
A mosquito made her way into my tent last night. I didn't swat this one before going to sleep. This morning
she was propped up on her elbow on my duffle all fat and smiling at me. For a moment I felt unfaithful but came to my
senses and whacked the snot out of her. Ugg.
A fellow ADV rider said there wasn't a single mosquito in the Yukon. They are all married and have very LARGE families.
The guys are riding from Tok Alaska today across the Top of the World road, a mostly gravel road in varying conditions
with a few mystifying strips of pavement a few hundred feet long on the Canadian side. The road is 190 miles long
with the town of Chicken Alaska somewhere near the middle. Dave and I decided to meet the bulk of the gang in Chicken
and ride back with them.
Light rain fell early but soon blew away. The road winds up to follow the highest ridges in the glacial mountain
range and is the third farthest road north second only to the Dempster (we traveled that Monday to the Artic Circle) and the
Dalton north of Fairbanks.
The contrast of the Blue Ridge like mountains and the rocky monoliths of the Richardson Range is evident from the first
vista. This road is more like a unkept dirt version of the Blue Ridge Parkway but the views go on for hundreds of miles.
Each curve unveils a new powerful set of peaks and gorges. This road was the original route to Dawson for Macenzie River
traders.
After the 500 mile ride on the Dempster, the 50 mile ride to the boarder and 50 more miles to Chicken seemed elementary.
The Canadian/American boarder is the most northern and most remote in the system and judging by the attitude of the American
customs inspectors, it doesn't pay enough to live in this high cabin and ask the same questions over and over.
Chicken Alaska consists of a small restaurant, liquor store, tavern, and gift shop. They are somewhat under
the same roof. A log post office sits just up the road with one employee that is post master, pilot, mail deliverer,
and stamp licker.
Many of the riders, male and female, were already in Chicken when we arrived. Susan owns the businesses in Chicken
and lives there year round. She depends on the summer months to make a go of it for the rest of the year and by the
looks of traffic, she's doing fine. Two of her three kids help her there. Chicken Air supports mining and sports
in the area as well.
We started back east on the TOTW highway spacing out enough to avoid breathing the acrid calcium coated gravel dust from
the folks in front. About 45 miles east of Chicken, a few old log buildings with a "best coffee in Border Town" sign
out front turned out to be the new business of a gentleman and his son. They have a lot of work to do and as the
only residents of "Border Town" need to venture into the big city of Chicken to find a suitable bride for junior.
Dave had a reservation at the Downtown Hotel offered weeks ago to split it with me as the place was full for
the D2D gathering. This is a treat. We parked the bikes along the wood plank sidewalks on the dirt
streets of Dawson next to dozens of other bikes with plates indicating the owners came from Alaska, Florida, Canada, Texas,
and North Carolina. Many other states and countries were represented but there were no trailers hauling in these
bikes. Many, like ours, had a fine cement coating from runs up the Dalton or Dempster highways. All
were bestickered with badges of passing from all over the world. Most were high mileage and more were vintage.
Thursday night consisted of wrenching, story telling, reminising, and fabricating parts to get them to the next
milestone. Several fellows were in their seventies, others were teens. All were dirty.
Tomorrow is the big event. Dual sport games, banquet, local runs...
Tonight I sleep in a bed with drapes to block out the everpresent sunlight. OH...A shower that doesn't
require skipping back to the tent with wet dirty feet. Luxury.
Good night Emily, Good night Eli (thanks for taking care of the heavy lifting for me), All my love my love.
Wednesday June 23 Dawson Break
The patter of the rain on the tent this morning was welcome. It gave me the OK to roll over and go back to sleep.
The ride down from the circle must have used all of my muscles because they were all whimpering.
When the frequency of drops slowed to a dogeable dribble in the late morning, I fumbled around for my "townie" clothes
and water bottle. Other dual-sport riders were starting to trickle in for the annual D2D (Dust to Dawson) gathering.
This is its 19th year and has grown to about 150 riders from all over the country. It started with some friends riding
from Ancorage to Dawson across the "Top of the World" road. It now includes a stop by a tree for a memorial service
where a fellow rider lost his life several years ago.
Dawson City in the Yukon Territories, on the Yukon river was a fishing village for the Tr'ondek H'wechin tribe before
the Klondike gold rush. 40,000 people lived there during it's heyday- more than in the whole providence today.
The local historian said San Francisco and Seattle were both built as support for Dawson.
Of course Robert Service and Jack London both spent time here and wrote much of their Klondike themed stories and
poems here.
A few of us from the camp walked into town and up to the cabin Robert Service occupied in time for the period dressed
parks representative to go over the Service's history and read some of his poetry. We sat in the drizzle and after
thanking the parks rep, wandered around town until we found a tavern with a small tv hosting the Cup games.
A much needed rest day that ended with a walk back to camp and a deep nights sleep. Sorry nothing exciting happened.
Night kids, Love you muchly Cathy.
June 22 Arctic Circle (Eagle Plains) back to Dawson City
Two eggs over easy, big hunk of bacon, hash browns, four slices of toast orange jam, two cups of coffee and juice.
The grill at Eagle Plains sure takes care of weary travelers.
As we didn't carry fresh clothes or much in the way of unneeded provisions, it didn't take long to redress in yesterday's
threads, eat, and jump back on the bikes. We agreed that the trip back would be at a less hectic pace than we pushed
to get that far north. That didn't last long.
A beautiful morning surrounded us with little wind making the trip back down the Dempster a pleasure ride. Sustained
55mph was attainable for most of the road. The rutted and washboard sections required more attention. Freshly
scrapped or applied pea-gravel still mandated hyper-attention and quick reflexes. My hands would hurt from my death
grip on the handlebars. I would have to constantly remind myself to relax my arms and allow the bike to find it's own
way- a more efficient and safe way to traverse loose stuff. Once I got the knack of this at speed, I was Jonah
Street barreling down the desert on his KTM in the Dakar Rally. At least until I realized that we were still 150 miles
from a pay phone in case my Dakar moment ended like so many participants in the real rally- bike and rider separate as does
sholders and other body parts. Ok...back off a bit. Still 6000 miles from home.
We met up with another familiar ADV rider, CaptUglyDan, at Two Moose Lake. Dan was heading north and asked about
conditions, time frames, and food. Dan had run the Campbell highway, another 500 mile bulldozer path from
southern Yukon almost to Dawson City. He cussed that road for all it was worth. Dan's old airhead BMW
GS only had about an inch and a half of travel left after his weight and load.
Dave and I stopped one more time at Red Creek to hydrate and reintroduce the result of our last hydration stop.
Red Creek is indeed red. The iron and mineral content of the surrounding exposed sedimentary rock results in a very
deep rust color of the creek and surrounding rocks. It looks like a drain basin in New Jersey.
The last 75 miles were through light showers and cool air coming down off of the Tombstone mountains. Pavement!
Five miles of it takes us to the small mile zero station where the $1.39 per liter (5.25 per gallon regular only) fuel
was a welcome site. I had been running on reserve for the last fifty miles and while I had a gallon of extra strapped
on the back, I didn't want to chance it. Soon after fueling up, I pulled up in front of the small wooden building to
pay, stepped up on my footpeg to dismount and followed the bike to the ground. Note to self...sidestand must be
in vertical position to keep the bike in the same. This was twice in two days the bike has been on it's side.
On the way back from the arctic circle to the bunkhouse, the wind caught me in such a way to drive the bike
off of the right side of the road. Luckily it was only a six foot drop to the scrub covered permafrost and
I was able to push up a little ramp to power back up to the roadbed. By the time Dave realized I wasn't
behind him, I was well through the gears and only a mile behind. The extra engine guards and hard cases kept the bike
from sustaining any damage.
We opted for a in town pay campsite to avoid the the skeeters and ferry ride, and be able to walk to supper. Several
ADV riders were already in town for the D2D gathering. Dust to Dawson is a gathering (not a rally :-)
of a hundred or so riders that leave Ancorage to ride across the Top-of-the-World highway. Again, highway is a
realitive term because it's more like a 200 mile driveway.
To celebrate our ride, we splurged on Chinese food and a cold beer.
Soon after blogging and curling up in my sleeping bag, the cold rain started and poured steady through the night.
My tent is a dry one. I enjoyed the noise.
Good night guys...Love you Cathy.
June 21 Dawson City to the Arctic Circle
Up early. Packed our stuff with handfulls of mosquitoes.
We ride over to the Downtown Hotel previously owned and now run by a fellow Adventure Rider Dick VanNorstrom. Dick
is a pilot, president of the Yukon tourist board, Dawson City Chamber of Commerce and armloads of other activities that should
keep 10 men busy. He took his time to escort us to his house a few blocks away where we had free reign of his well stocked
garage. I changed the oil in the KLR while Dave replaced the tire on the back of his BMW GSA.
BMW GSA vs KLR....
Winnebago vs Stationwagon with a sleeping bag
Battleship vs dingy
707 vs hangglider
You get the picture.
The contrast between the capabilities of the two bikes are fodder for civilized banter for the entire trip.
Bikes prepped- everything tightened, extra fuel loaded, extra weight jettisoned, extra oil and fluids, recheck all tools
needed.
Riders prepped- beef jerky, power bars, and quarts of water and camping stuff.
A thirty mile ride to mile 0 of the Dempster highway, named for a Royal Canadian Mounted Police inspector William Dempster.
Dempster led a group to find the lost patrol who died enroute from Dawson City to Fort McPherson. The Dempster highway
runs 457 miles to Inuvick and several more in the winter when the lakes are frozen.
The Dempster highway is a raised bed of gravel over the tundra conditioned by the Yukon government to allow for transportation
of goods to the handful of small support towns along the way. We happened to catch it when it wasn't raining very much.
The rain turns the Dempster, coated with calcium cloride to hold down the dust, into a pudding like quagmire rendering it
nearly impassible for two wheel vehicles and a show stopper for many four.
Rain for the first fifty miles or so kept us at a tempered pace but it quickly let up and we were able to travel at 45-60
mph across the hard compact gravel. The conditions changed every twenty five miles or so from pea gravel topped (ride
a bicycle on an ice rink) to a bone jarring washboard surface, to a nice smooth, almost paved hard pack.
I split my time looking hard at the road surface for the optimal path, scanning the treeline for wildlife and trying
to enjoy the scenery. The road is elevated above the tundra about six feet but hugs the hills in places with no guard
rails to keep you pointed in the right direction.
I put on a couple of albums to add a soundtrack to the ride- Rolling Stones Sticky Fingers, and the Greatful Dead-
Cornell '77 kept my foot tapping through the first hundred miles or so of the jaunt. Music has been a big part of this
trip be it chosen tracks or random play. I'm putting together a blog entry on that aspect of the trip soon.
With the sun over my left shoulder Dave and I switch places so we each won't have to breath dust all of the time.
We pause every seventy five miles or so to stretch, drink, and talk about what we've seen. At one point we crested the
top of a hill to find a wolf in the road. Stopping to retrieve my camera from the breast pocket of my riding jacket
(Dave stopped just behind me), we watched as the wolf moved directly toward us, passing by me and sniffing Dave's boot before
moving on. I wasn't sure what to do so I sat motionless until he was gone snapping a few pictures as he passed.
Amazing animal.
The wind picked up as the temprature dropped until riding was more like sailing. The wind would push the KLR hard
from the side and move it across the road on the loose gravel quickly requiring an instant response to keep from joining the
deep undergrowth down the bank on each side of the roadbed. Swamps gave way to creeks and rivers then long expanses
of tundra with large rolling hills and eventually mountains raising in the distance. The smell of honeycomb and cinnamon
was strong at one point. I'm not sure what plant did that but it was welcome. The one constant was the mosquitoes.
At any stop they would be there in droves within seconds of lifting the modular helmet.
We pushed on for 250 miles taking approximatly 6.5 hours to get to the first fuel stop of Eagle Plains. This was
where we first intended to camp. The arctic circle is only 30 miles beyond but the wind had picked up even more making
the desolate oasis- two pump station- grill and bunkhouse (mostly for the truckers that use this road and Helicopter pilots
making a stop) an easy place to dive into and escape the elements. The parking lot was blown smooth by the driving wind
taking much of the dirt with it off of the mountain. The bunkhouse had a room available for the night so we jumped at
the chance to rest for a while and drop off our stuff before heading on the the circle. The time was ten pm but it was
very sunny.
Back on the bikes we pushed on for the remaining thirty miles across a standard steel mesh bridge over the Oglive river
and up to a high mountain pass before decending into the valley where the demarcation point of the arctic circle is marked
with a lonsome but elaborate sign. The sign is visible from the downside of the pass and looks out of place since the
only thing we've seen other than the oasis thirty miles previous was what nature had assembled over the ages. Rolling
up to the pull-off at 10:45 pm we couldn't dismount quickly enough. This was it. The big goal. The stake-in-the-ground
that seemed unattainable just months ago.
Long hours of reading about others journeys, late nights in the garage switching out the bolts that came on the bike
with tempered ones to ensure nothing was left to chance, the right sleeping bag, the right exercises to make sure my back
would survive. This was it.
We posed for pics staring into the sun slowly inching toward the horizon while leaning into the wind. An old station
wagon and camper truck was sitting there when we arrived awaiting the moment of solstice.
A young couple whom we had met earlier on a summit arrived in their new Toyota 4x4 with the brakes squeeling from the
coating of calcium cloride on the road. We talked to Dylan and Tamala about their trip from Vancover Island though
BC and the Yukon and the similarities and differences with our journeys. Again I had the privilage to meet another wonderful
couple enjoying this spectacular land. Happy trails you two!
We were tired. Tired and very very sore. The last thirty miles back to the bunkhouses in Eagle Plains seemed
the longest of the trip. I walked out to the edge of the parking lot to watch the final dip of the sun while Dave showered
the road muck off and engaged in a well deserved teeth brushing.
I snapped a couple of shots with my watch and the sun in the background only to return with the main door locked.
No phone service, no resident stirring, no idea which window on the outside belonged to our room. This was a fine how-do-you-do.
A geologist staying with a group suddenly slammed into the front door on his way out to smoke, unaware it was locked.
"hey, I'm staying here too" , flashed my key, ran in, he ran out.
Good night Emily and Eli, I did it. Thanks for your unending support Cathy. More to come later on the trip
out. It's a hoot.
3:30 am est
June 20- Day 16 Teslin Yukon to Dawson City Yukon
Breakfast will have to wait. Dave and I have a lot of ground to cover today so we'll put a few miles under us then
stop in Whitehorse.
Most of the early travel was just grinding out miles in sparsely populated areas until we hit the capital of the Yukon,
Whitehorse.
Whitehorse has a Wal-Mart albeit not a very big one. Kinda like Roses in Weaverville but they did have the oil
I desprerately needed to continue on to the arctic circle. We grabbed more power bars, snacks, oil, and a McDonalds
meal. Even the McDonalds prices are high. Ten dollars for a double cheesburger, fries, and drink.
More wildlife on the way to Dawson...
Let me share a little about the Yukon. There are 32,000 people in the entire providence with 22,000 of those living
in Whitehorse. About 1600 permanent residences in Dawson, the second largest city, and the rest are scattered around
in small villages across the remainder. This for an area more than twice the size of California. As remote as
BC seemed, the Yukon redefines the term desolate.
The Yukon also has 14 indigenous groups of people, 13 of which have settled with the government for rights to their own
land and self governance. They prefer to be called people of First Nation. First Nation over eskimo or indian
or aboriginal. Charlie David was one of the First Nation residents that told me about the civilizations, or lack of,
around Teslin. Charlie was a slight man with dark black hair thick glasses and a silk shirt. He a habit of
walking off without finishing the conversation only to return a few minutes later and begin where he left off. Charlie
talked about the temprature difference in the last couple of years where the low last winter was only -35 farenheit as opposed
to the -50 or -60 just a few years ago. I told Charlie once it's below 0 it doesn't matter. He walked away again.
Dave and I put in a lot of miles, nearly 500 today and arrived tired and sore to camp at a provencial site across the
river from Dawson. A ferry ride, compliments of the Yukon government, is required to access the sight and road to Alaska.
The mosquitoes are out in force as the rains begin. We hunkered down in my relatively large tent to pour over the
route to the arctic circle and how to get there with the gas we can carry.
Nearly midnight and we force ourselves to sleep.
Night Emily and Eli. I miss you dearly. Wish you were here my love.
June 19 Day 15 Deese Lake to Teslin Yukon
The Yukon....Yeah! Somehow this feels more goal achieving than Alaska.
Dave and I left Dease Lake early enough to catch the mosquitoes sleeping and rode for 250 kilometers before catching
brunch in Watson Lake home of the famous sign post forest. Back in 1942 the Alaska Highway was being constucted by the
Army in some of the most inhospitable terrain in the world under constant battles with moquitoes and terrifying temperatures.
At some point a signpost was erected and pointers indicating the distance to a couple of local outposts were attached.
Some of the soldiers with time on their hands (no internet access) decided to add distances to their homes. The tradition
grew and now 69,752 signs exist. Add one more for the one I attached reading "Jupiter NC 2637 mi" with an arrow pointing
roughly in he direction of our fair community. Of course that's distance in crow flying. My total now is nearly
a doubled 4990 miles.
My old mule is performing wonderfully. A few tweeks as we go including tightening the new chain, another oil change,
adjusting the clutch and lubing the cables made her smile a little.
Today was a long and relatively uneventful day covering nearly 500 kilometers but crossing paths with more of the wildlife.
The original plan was to cover another 220 kilometers but the availability of civilized or bush campsites were suspect
at best.
Tomorrow we intend to complete the ride to Dawson where we will set up a base camp for rides to the arctic circle, back
across a rough high mountain pass to Alaska, pan for gold, fish a little, and day trips around the area. I expect we
will be there about a week.
There are a few things that I can't get over about this land.
First is the amount of daylight. I went to bed last night at 11:30 and it was like 6:00 at home. I have a
pair of the fancy eye patch thingys like the women wear on airplanes in first class that help but the birds don't wear them
so they sing all night. I don't know when it get's dark because it was light again at 4am when nature called me.
Second is the cost of everything in Canada. Regular gasoline is $1.15 per liter or around $4 per gallon US.
A baked lasagna and side salad was $25 and my BLT and drink was $15.
Third is the vast space between civilization here. Most seem to be build around gas stops, most spaced about the
distance between the average automobile distance capability. From central British Columbia, other than
the road beneath my wheels, there are few signs of man's impact on the land or sky. No jet contrails, no power
lines, and certainly no homes. Just the anticipated "wide place in the road" with a few shacks, gas station,
and maybe a small business catering to the road weary traveler. One must wonder what serves as entertainment.
The snowmobiles are probably more necessity in the winter than fun but who knows.
I must shut this thing off and get to bed. 11:30 and the sun just dipped over the horizon. Maybe
the locals will come out to play.
Good night kids, where ever you are. Wish you were here Cathy even though it's not the first place you
would choose. :-)
Friday June 18 Day 14-Hyder Alaska to somewhere north of Dease Lake British Columbia Canada
Still feeling pretty crappy but this is one of the days I anticipated when planning the trip. Mark-get up.
Pack up. Point North. Go.
I had to dig out my big girl panties this morning.
In Stewart, a little village between Hyder and the rest of the world, there was a Swiss-German grocery store in town
that had Advil Cold and Sinus tablets. Cup-o-joe, energy bar...
I gotta say. Having a runny nose and sneezing in a full face helmet takes some of the romanticism out of an epic
road trip.
The ride out of Hyder between the mountains- lush at the bottom- snow covered and jagged at the top, was even more stunning
in the late morning light. In this valley, the sky takes up less room than the terrain. A sharp contrast
to the Dakotas, Wyoming, and Montana.
The Cassier highway above 37a consists of smooth well lined blacktop that ends in brush just inches off the edge of the
road. The farther north you travel the worse the road conditions become until south of Dease Lake it becomes loose gravel
and constuction. Not bad riding but hyperfocused attention is critical. Many critters call this remote road home.
I passed three moose, several deer, four bears and a poor puppy that I hope didn't look distressed. I only hope he had
a home in the bush where some side roads would be an over night camp for the ever present 4x4 trucks with slide-in campers.
At Bell II, an oasis in the middle of the Cassier, I stopped for fuel and a snack. As soon as I raised the shield
on my helmet, mosquitos filled the void. I snapped the shield shut and squished as many as I could with my face on the
helmet liner and proceeded to pump gas in all my gear. These guys are vicious. Even in the middle of nowhere they
swarm you in seconds. I wonder what they eat when I'm not around?
At Dease Lake I decided to stop at the only store, a small reservation stop-in, to replenish my dwindling stock of dried
soups and noodles when I saw a BMW GS across the parking lot. Swinging in to make conversation the rider asked my name
as I noticed his NC plate and "Boone" sticker. We both realized that each other was the faceless person on the other
end of the Adventure Rider forum where I had asked if someone had an extra bed in Dawson for a gathering of ADV riders.
David Kellner had been the one that answered my plea and after a couple of days of exchanging emails we realized we lived
only 80 miles apart. Fancy that. 4500 miles from home and we accidently find each other in a remote part of British
Columbia. With the only phone for hundreds of miles in either direction, I snagged it to call home and wish Cathy a
happy anniversary. 22 years. I still don't know how I pulled that one off.
I had intended to push on another 150 miles to take advantage of the light but David had already put in a extra long
day on his GS so we decided to hit a local campground on Dease Lake. Again, magic wifi in the wild.
So I sit here with my mosquito headnet on at 10:45 pm banging on this little computer toy in broad daylight.
On one side of us are a couple of gentlemen from Oregon and Colorado on nice new KLR650's on their way to Ancorage and
on the other is Simon who hails from England by the way of Vancover in his new Toyota FourRunner with all the Africa Safari
gear including a tent that pops up on the top in case of lions. Really cool rig. Simon just completed a
whirlwind tour of the Yukon and Alaska hitting some of the same back roads I intend to ride.
David and I are planning the rest of the trip up to the circle and back into Alaska via the Top-of-the-World highway,
a unpaved winding road from Dawson to south of Fairbanks. Depending on the weather it could be a breeze or a muddy mess.
We'll see.
At least for the next week, I'll have a riding partner for the hardest and most remote parts of the trip and I can show
him how to fix things with zip ties.
Gotta force the sleep.
Good night my precious little kiddies (20 and 16), Happy Anniversary my bride.
Wednesday June 17 Smithers BC to Hyder Alaska
After leaving Prince George I moved west on Yellowhead Highway (hwy 16) noticing the road was running out of people.
A couple of small towns grew from rest stops when it took much longer to traverse this stretch. I stopped in Smithers
after having ridden for much longer than I intended or should have and found a small municipal primitive campground next to
a large river. Quickly setting up camp next to a couple working in the area I fixed a quick Thai Noodle dish
and lemon tea.
Maggie and Nicolas had just finished a stint as tree planters in the vast bush of BC between catching semesters at school.
When a site is logged, the company then contracts a team to replant by hand what had just been harvested. They showed
me the quality tools used. Strong cast mini-shovels. I like good tools.
Nicolas shrugged when he said it's still a monoculture but as long as the world uses paper, pencils,
and builds houses this sustainable scientific approach is the way to go. Besides. They are oozing trees up
here.
Maggie drove her old Subaru from her home in Nova Scotia. (hey Emily, this is from back when Subarus
were kinda square shaped like my old blue one). She, Nicolas and their dog Boreal worked the plant camps in the bush
for the season. It was fasinating to hear about the camp coming together to run off the bears and how one particular
set of very large grizzly tracks were concerning. Boreal was a dog's dog. Alert, curious, and playful. Bright
sky blue eyes caught your attention too.
Nicolas and Maggie were good peaceful souls. Sprinkles on the ice cream of my travels.
Pine trees stretched from horizon to horizon becoming mesmorizing at Canada's maximum 100 kph limit. That's 60
mph max no matter how long, wide, or desolate the road is.
I ride the speed limit for a number of reasons so twist the grip on the right to the correct position and resume my vigilant
scanning of the roadsides for signs of bambi.
I saw a moose this morning. I really didn't realize how big these suckers are. Like a Subaru on stilts.
He didn't run fast or particularly gracefully. Actually quite clumsy. Kind of like the steampunk spider in the
remake of Wild Wild West. Deer, on the other hand are like Mother Natures suicide bombers. I suppose automobiles
haven't been around long enough to weed the bad geometery gene from their DNA.
As I neared the begining of the Cassier Highway, a long mostly paved two land road from south BC to the Yukon, I saw
signs for a PetroCanada just ahead. Pretty much the last chance before Stewart or Hyder or beyond. Fuel up, bacon
and eggs, stretch and hydrate.
The Cassier is the less know little sister to the Alaska Highway running to it's east. The dense
brush grows to within a couple of feet of the road making wildlife scouting more frantic and dropping one's speed here
is a good idea. Three bears playing at the edge of one curve disappeared instantly into the foliage inches away.
To be as big as they are they can be stealthy when they want.
Ride, ride, ride, ride, stop and become mosquito food while I hydrate and stretch (quicker this time), ride, ride,
ride, ride...
A long one-way-in-and-out spur off of the Cassier takes me 40 miles or so to the BC town of Stewart, just across
the river is Hyder.
Goal 1. Alaska, check.
Hyder is not unlike Cicely Alaska, the ficitional town in the tv series Northern Exposure. All dirt roads,
a hodgepodge of small stores but mostly bars servicing the fishing industry along the Portland Canal and tending to the few
tourists that wander in looking for the famous bear watching place. When the salmon run in this area, grizzly and black
bear come like parisioners to a buffet at Ryans as soon as church is out. Before the runs, few bears, while the salmon
are running, they are everywhere. Sorry that I'm a couple of weeks early this year.
I did see a couple more black bears poking their heads up above the grass for a better view of me.
The Bear Glacier and Salmon Glacier are must sees in this area. The Salmon is at the end of a 20 mile long freshly
scraped dirt road but worth the dust to see. It's the fifth largest in North America.
Supper was at an old school bus transformed into a kitchen by Diana, wife of a local fisherman. Diana serves whatever
is fresh and does it well.
Fish and chips. Halibut with home made tartar sauce was amazing. Stop and see Diana when you are in town.
I've been slowly eeking out a cold/sinus/achy feeling for most of the day and decide to curl up deep in my mummy bag
and sleep it off. No drug store for miles so I'll eat some advil and drink more water and see what happens in the morning.
Night Emily and Eli, all of my love Cathy.
