Lovely Day for a Motorcycle Ride

Maids, front desk personnel, people in the lobby, everyone I hear is talking about how crappy the weather is this morning. Rain and 14. I'm a runner, kilometers are second nature to me, I just flip the switch when I'm in Canada. Celsius, meh, not so much. And the conversion isn't a simple multiplier like, say, kilograms. All I know is 35 is damned hot, 30 is a nice day, 25 is starting to get nice. 20, ehh, could be nicer. 14? I don't think "nice" or "hot" get used to describe it. I've ridden in worse this trip, so I'll get the electric liner out and my on-sale goose down vest that I'm *really* starting to appreciate.

Yeah, I think that's me where the little pointer is at. <voice=deadpan>Hurray.</voice>

A Pigeon Heads Home to Roost

A quick one today because the road today was quick but not all that interesting, and because I've laid down almost 700 miles. I have now ridden the length of the Alaska Highway, save a teensy piece between Watson Lake and Nugget City. Meh. I'm sure 30 or 40 years ago driving the AlCan was a challenge. Now it's all paved except for the construction zones. Sure, the section between Destruction Bay and Beaver Creek (at the U. S. border) gets a little bumpy from the frost heaves, but it's hardly worthy of the "I Survived the Alaska Highway" stickers and t-shirts I kept seeing.

Thanks to being surrounded by mountains last night, it actually got a little dark. Being further south helps, too, I'm sure. But Ol Sol managed to claw his way back over the mountains no later than 5:45 this morning, because that's when the light woke me up. Which is good, because that means an earlier start. Some coffee and oatmeal, and it's go time.

But not before the campground dog makes his morning rounds. He's got a few years on him, so he wasn't in any hurry to head up the hill to my tent, but I was content to wait. Some scratches on the head, then off he goes to pee on the tree he peed on last night, and on his way.

Meanwhile, while I was sleeping I suppose, the goat family walked 50 miles down the road to bid me farewell. 

Or maybe they're distant cousins of the ones I saw yesterday. I pop up over a rise, mid-corner, and there stands Mama Goat in the middle of the road. Mama was in no hurry to move, so I went around and parked. Baby mountain goat was cute, as cars would go by he'd leap over the guardrail. Then as soon as the car went away, he'd leap back over the rail and go lay down by the road.

Speaking of goats in the road, wouldn't that be a cool GoPro video? Sweeping corner, pop over the rise and there stands a goat? Bro, that would be so awesome! Good thing I had it recording. When I got off the bike, I looked at it to make sure it was running, maybe give it a little wave. It sat there doing nothing, not recording a thing. I swear, if it weren't for the fact that fish could probably do with fewer heavy metals in their diet, I'd throw the damned thing in the river. Short of buying GoPro's $80 remote, there's just no way to be sure of the state it's in. Dudes, I have the most gnarly videos of the bike parked at a gas station and me downing a Gatorade.  It goes on for like ten minutes like that! It was epic! I do have a solution, but it involves the camera, an iPhone, a Pebble smartwatch, all connected wirelessly. And not just a single wireless protocol with, say, Bluetooth running the show. No, part of it uses Wifi (GoPro to phone) and part uses Bluetooth (phone to watch). Oh, yeah, let's spend my vacation fiddling with all that. I did it exactly once. I'd rather do without vacation videos that I'm never going to watch.

After leaving the mountains, it's a short jaunt to Fort Nelson, BC, and civilization starts shortly after that in Fort Nelson. Civilization, yuk. Stoplights, and traffic, and strips malls. It's odd coming from nothing but work camps, towns with populations of 37, and gas pumps with mechanical counters to...this. But civilization also brings a Tim Horton's, so there's lunch.

21 miles before finishing off the AlCan, I go 10K out of the way to see an old section of the original highway. There's a timber bridge there that was built with the original highway. It goes over a big river gorge, and it's curved; kinda cool. 

Then it's back to BC 97 to lay down some miles and get a picture at the AlCan sign in Dawson Creek.

I told Katherine on the phone tonight that she didn't miss anything by not going to Dawson Creek last fall. Not a bad town, but nothing exciting, either. A nice woman with her daughters snaps my pic in front of the sign. She and her daughters are from Montana, and they're heading up to the southern peninsula of Alaska. I hope the good weather holds for them.

If you see grain elevators, you can be assured of two things: the road will be boring, and it will be fast. Just the thing to lay down miles and put a bow on this trip.

It seems that on every solo motorcycle trip, Jimmy Buffet's song _Come Monday_ comes around on the playlist toward the end of the trip, about the time I'm missing my honey. The lyrics seem so fitting about that point in any trip, just like today. I might not have spent "four lonely days in a brown L. A. haze", but I do "just want you back by my side". Lovely song, always brings a tear to the eye at just the right time in the trip.

I considered gassing up in Prince George, then heading a few more miles down the road to a primitive campsite, throw the tent and sleeping bag down for some zzzzz's, then kickstand up a bit after dawn. But as the rain comes down, I consider that a motel can get me an even earlier start. That's my excuse, it's all in the interests of saving time. A Sandman *and* an attached Denny's? Sold.

I didn't think I'd be home on Friday, but as I was doing the math last night I figured I could if I pulled a couple of 600-700 mile days. Time to go home to the lovely wife that bailed me out when I needed it, and otherwise made this trip possible. I'll be home tomorrow if all goes well, and can spend the weekend with her before she leaves to visit family. I love you, Katherine, and miss you very much. I have eagle's wings now, and I'll fly home soon.

Plenty of Light

I counted three flashlights of various kinds in my luggage. What the hell was I thinking? I haven't seen true darkness in over a week.

A Hidden Gem

(Apologies for what I am sure are a bunch of typos. I'm in my sleeping bag using the iPhone on-screen keyboard to type this.)

Earlier to bed and earlier to rise this time. I put the Kindle down around 11, and actually made it to 5:45 before my eyes popped open. I briefly considered just getting up, but I wasn't in that much of a hurry, and there was another motorcyclist camped right next me. I figured there was no need to disturb him, so I went back to sleep. I worried needlessly as he'd been up for a while, wondering if he was disturbing *me*. Regardless, I was still on the road by 8:00.

Now the 200 miles of dirt starts. It was great dirt, though. Hard-packed dirt, and on it I can keep a good clip. I was going to gas up in Faro, but I figured I'd get on the road, then gas up 60K down the road at Ross River. Had I known it was 10K off the highway to get to Ross River, I would've filled up on Faro. Meh, no matter, it's a nice ride up there.

Back to the Campbell and on to Watson Lake. The Campbell Highway is a lonely road early in the morning, but the wild flowers along the road make nice companions

I stopped at a rest area for a pee break and to look at the view of the lake. 

As I'm standing there, I talk to a couple in an RV. I've been doing a lot of that up here, standing around talking to people. Sure, I've left campgrounds three hours later than I wanted to because I was standing around jawing, but what's the point otherwise? So I can run to the next dirt road, to the next photo op, to the next gas station so I can fill up and get back on the road? I think the bike attracts a lot of that, if only because it's so dirty. The big Beemer got a bath in Fairbanks, but it's already filthy again. Plus, I guess it does look kind of loaded for adventure. Of course it's not all about me, so I do make a point to ask folks how their trip is going, too, even if they're in an RV. And frankly I wonder if it isn't harder in an RV. Sure, stick to the paved roads and you're just going for a drive. But once the pavement ends, I'd rather be on a bike. My bike is built specifically for such silliness, I can stand on the pegs over the bumpy bits, and if it gets too rough I push a button on the handlebar to say "make it softer, please".

The RV couple asked how the road ahead was, as they were traveling the other way. I told then it was fine, with the caveat that my bike is likely better on this stuff than their RV. Another 60 miles down the road it becomes clear why they asked. It's tougher now, with baby-head rocks sticking up above the dirt. Still, it's not all that bad, and the bike smoothes it out just fine.

And then, maybe 20 miles outside Watson Lake, I come across the worst road construction area of the entire time I've held a license to drive. The "flagger" comes out of her truck as I approach. I put "flagger" in quotes because she has no flag or sign of any kind. Should I stop? She's not motioning me to do so. Eh, I guess I'll stop just in case.

"Do you have flashers?"

"Hmm? Umm, yeah."

"Could you turn them on so the heavy machinery can see you?"

You mean to tell me there's heavy machinery that could run me over, and no pilot car? Umm-kay.

First, the dirt has been pounded to a fine silty dust by the machinery. Next, there are ruts dug by the tires of other vehicles. This adds to the fun because if I have to cross those ruts, the front wheel will want to stay in that rut and I'll have to fight my way out... across the silt that also wants to suck at my front wheel. To top it all off, it's not entirely clear where I should go. It's just this big plain of pounded dirt with orange makers scattered about seemingly randomly. At one point, as I'm trying to navigate with two giant earth movers coming at me on both sides, I'm actually yelling in my helmet "WHERE THE HELL DO I GO?" And I can't slow down because a bit of speed is all that keeps me upright in this crap. In the middle of all this I began to think that after all of these thousand of miles this trip, this is where I go down. And for some strange reason I was comfortable with that idea. I've never been down at anything more than a walking pace after all these years, and only then in an off road class where I expected to fall over (else I just wasn't trying hard enough). But I'm in second gear, so I'm not going all that fast. I'm wearing an armored riding suit, and if I fall off I land in soft dirt. Picking up this loaded pig is going to be a bitch, but damned straight one of those highway workers is helping me. Assuming the earth movers don't get me first, that is.

But I stayed up. The off road class, all of those miles down the Dalton Highway, the road to Eagle, 180 miles of dirt on the Campbell, it has all led to this. I don't have to think about the steps anymore, I just do it. Stand on the pegs, squeeze the tank with my legs, stay loose on the handlebars. When the thing I want to do most in the world is snap the throttle shut, that's the time to give it a little gas. And when the going got really gnarly I didn't have to fight my instincts to let off the gas, I gave it a little twist instead, and I was confident in doing so because I knew that was my best chance. And you know what? It works. All that stuff taught in the class, all the stuff I've read, put it all together and it REALLY works. Even if it doesn't, it's better than the alternative, because if I'd gotten scared, gorilla-gripped the handlebars, and snapped the throttle shut, I guarantee you I would have been lying in the dirt.

But I swear, it was indescribably bad. Not just the horrible surface, but the complete lack of any direction what so ever, with giant machinery moving about seemingly at random. Even in Canada this has to be the stuff lawsuits are made of.

Watson Lake at last, and it's time for a photo of the world famous signpost. Great googly moogly, it's a signpost *forest*. I get a pic, and then I'm out of there. Way to kitschy for me.

I decide that I'm not going to do the remainder of the Alcan and just go back the way I came. I'm running out of time, and it looks longer down the Alcan. But as I fiddle with the mapping software over lunch, it looks like it would only add an extra 150K. Alright, what the heck, let's do it.

Oh, man, I'm so glad I did. At first it's more of the same ol' northern BC highway: fast, with occasional periods of fast sweeping corners. And the signs warning of bison on the road weren't kidding.

 But then I come into a provincial park in what I later figure out is probably the northern Rockies. It's the most awesome provincial/state park ever. It rivals national parks for scenery. And they have goats to greet you as you enter the park.

As I approached the goats, I killed the engine and coasted up to them. They didn't seem too concerned. They didn't even move. Baby goats were just lying in the sun by the side of the road, not a care in the world. I snapped some pictures and got some video on the phone. Because, damn that GoPro eats batteries and it was dead again. I need to either get a second battery or wire it to the bike's power. Or maybe just quit fiddling with technology in a weak attempt to capture panoramic views in a bottle, and actually look at the scenery.

I'm willing to do a primitive provincial campground, but it's still a little early and I want to knock off some more miles. Another 50K after the park, and I spy an RV park. This near such a lovely area, it's probably pricey, no WiFi, and not really catering to tents, but it's as good a place as any to stop for the day. 

It turned out to be probably the best independent campground I've ever stayed at.

For comparison, two nights ago I paid $12 at a Yukon provincial park, which had no showers, I pooped into a hole in the ground, and the water turned my pot brown. Not that I'm complaining, all I need is a flat patch for the tent, and I boiled my water thoroughly (a little rust and dirt won't kill me, but germs can be unpleasant). I just want to set a baseline.

Here, $12 got me a tent spot, there were showers, WiFi that's not much to write home about but it works, and I couldn't ask for a more lovely setting. There was even a dog for me to pet.

Crack-o' (figure of speech; dawn is still probably 3:30 a. m. here) and on the road early tomorrow. My missives from here to Saturday will likely be few and short. It's time to flip the "Iron Butt " switch to it's "on" position and get myself home. I leave you with a small glimpse of my accommodations for the night. As so often happens, a picture won't do it justice.

Good Fortune Awaits

Up at eight this time, having had the first good night's sleep in a long time since my tent is buried in trees and the constant daylight is a little more muted. I spend time fixing my stove that has been an otherwise maintenance-free servant for over 15 years. I spend time talking to the third RV owner since last night, talked to the other bike rider next to me. Before I knew it, it's 10:30. So much for an early start. By the time I wait for the ferry crossing, it's 11:00 before I get rolling out of Dawson.

From here it's on to Whitehorse and coming back the way I came for a bit. But someone had mentioned the Campbell Highway. Never heard of it, haven't done it, okay then.

I get to Carmacks, YT just past the Campbell Highway turn-off and stop for lunch. I haven't had a shower since Deadhorse and I'm running out of clothes. I would have taken a shower in Fairbanks if Jared and I hadn't sat and drank coffee until 11:00 a. m. telling stories. I look at my iPhone campgrounds app, and all I see down the Campbell are primitive campgrounds with no showers and no laundry. Nah, I'm going to go to Whitehorse and clean up.

After a delicious lunch, I decide "fuck it". I came up here to ride roads, so I should go ride them. The bears won't care how I smell. So it's down the Campbell with a stench blowing behind me.

Speaking of bears, not 2 clicks down the Campbell and there stands baby bear at the side of the road watching me go by.

I'm at about my limit for my day, so I'll stop in Faro, YT and see what's there, then find a campground. Wait a minute. Do my eyes deceive me? It says there's an RV park and laundromat not 10K down the road. Oh, man, that worked out well. So as I type I'm clean again and waiting for my laundry to dry.

Eagle, Alaska

In Chicken the night before, the proprietor of the mercantile/liquor store/bar/cafe asked if I was going up to Eagle, AK. "I suppose not, since I've never heard of it."

"Oh, you have the time, on *that* bike, you have to go. It's like this", she says as she makes back and forth motions with her hands. "You'll love it."

Alright, I'll add that to the list. And bright and early at 7:00 to pack the bike and head up to Eagle. Coffee first, though. Susan, the proprietor, had said to knock on the door of the cafe if I wasn't too early and she'd fix me up with coffee. As I walk down, titanium coffee cup in hand, an RV camper says, "they don't open until 7:30." I just nod. You see, I'm "in" with the owner.

I knock, Susan opens, I walk in. "I think it's a little weak", she says, "try it and let me know what you think." Yeah, it's a little watery. She said she'd run it through the grounds again. I tell her I'm heading out, and thank her for her hospitality. "You still owe me $2 for the coffee, though." Fair enough.

Up the dirt road, and to the turn off for Eagle. Meh, it's 65 miles of dirt, and then 65 miles back since it's the only road in and out. I think I'll just skip it. A half mile later, I ask myself what the hell I'm doing out here if not to see where a road goes. That's the whole reason I went to Deadhorse, isn't it? To see where the road goes? Screw it, I'm going. 

As I turn the bike around, I do all the right things, swivel my head in the direction I want to go, ease the clutch out and turn the bike...and discover I'm in neutral. So there I am, sideways and taking up the entire lane, pointing such that I have a bit of difficulty getting the bike backed up. Thankfully the road has zero traffic at that hour, and finally succeed in heading to Eagle.

And thankfully I did. A month ago this road would have scared the shit out of me. Random gravel, tight and blind corners, 200 foot drops to the river below with no guard rail. But that was a month ago. I've since taken an off-road course and ridden the 830 miles of the round trip to Deadhorse, so my confidence is way up. Instead of the white-knuckle ride of terror it would have been not 30 days ago, it's a hoot.

Eagle, AK: not much to say. The public library, which is run by volunteers and open two hours a day, has WiFi. So I catch up on mail, sent a few texts, send off the blog updates. I notice two guys across the street working on a shed, so I ask them where to get a cup of coffee. They tell me, then like so many conversations I've had this trip we talk about where I'm from, where I've been, and where I'm going. One guys's wife, Geraldine, has a father that helped build this road. Before departing, Geraldine's husband tells me, "watch out for bears on the way out." I think, "oh, the cute little black bears I've been seeing?"

"Those grizzs will just come right out in the road, and they're fast."

All I could think of was Bill Paxton in the movie _Aliens_ when the dropship crashes in a ball of fire and screeching metal: "Well, that's just great, man! That's just fuckin' great!"

I get my coffee, swing by Fort Egbert, and then head on out. I never saw any grizzlies. I did see Mama Moose and Baby Moose in the middle of the road shortly after leaving town, though.

Now that I know the road holds no surprises, I am tearing it up. Experienced dirt riders would laugh at my pathetic slowness, but for me I'm flying. Kick the tail out with the throttle in the corners until the traction control says, "that will be enough of that, Mr. Stewart" and just doing stuff I wouldn't imagine when I bought the bike.

On through the easiest border crossing I've ever had and onto Dawson. I figure I'd take the ferry across the river, grab some dinner and find a place to camp. As I coast down to the ferry, I see two guys waving at me, pretty enthusiastically actually. Either they're big BMW fans, or just friendly folk. As I wait in line at the ferry, it's Chris and Virgil again that were waving. Small world, sure, but this is pretty weird. I ask them where they're staying, and they're at the public campground that I just passed.

Instead going to town for supper, I just eat out of my panniers. Freeze-dried lentils and rice, and fire-roasted vegetables. Works for me. After supper, I wander down to Chris and Virgil's campsite, made obvious by the bikes that I'm now seeing for the third time this trip. I end up hanging out until midnight swapping stories. Well, listening to their stories is more like it. My stories are still kind of lame. But they're stories have me in stitches. Virgil riding down a trail until it gets so narrow that he can't turn the bike around, so he gently lays it on the ground and spins it around on the cylinder head (BMW flat-twin cylinders stick out to the side). His buddy Chris is apparently the nuttier one of the bunch, and he has more gnarly stories complete with pictures of his bike in places I'd never dare go. Of course in the course of the stories, bikes end up on their sides, body parts get dislocated, body parts get put back into their proper places using bungie cords and some pulling ("my thumb was pornographically long"). I should have been in bed long ago, and I'll regret this, but it was well worth it.

Remote and Unconnected

I apologize to the three people that are reading this for getting the posts so backed up. This is the first time since Prudhoe Bay that I've had a data connection. (Could have found a Starbucks in Fairbanks, but didn't feel like taking the time.) And just where did I find this connection? Outside the public library in Eagle, AK. Look on a map. It's the last place in the U. S. I'd figure to get connected. Hell, the phone says I've even got a T-Mobile connection. Go figger.