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.