Alaska!

After "the ordeal", I was going to treat myself to sleeping in. Sadly, the Harley-Davidson owners parked next to my room didn't feel the same. Ya know, those things come out of the factory quiet. Oh, you didn't know that? Probably not, because nearly every yahoo that buys one feels the need to announce "oh, did you know I own a Harley?" by putting loud pipes on them. Yes, it's illegal. No, no one ever writes tickets for it. All that noise, and it still only puts out 90bhp? Sad, that's what it is. I've had more than one person comment about my bikes, "it's so quiet". No, it's not, but it's as loud as it's supposed to be. In comparison to the man-child's Harley, I guess it is quiet, though. So all of us on two wheels get painted with the same "asshole" brush. When you fuckers aren't allowed into Glacier National Park anymore (oh, it's coming, look it up) I'm going to laugh my ass off.

No matter, I roll back over and snooze until 7:30. That's sleeping in enough. Since I was just throwing shot (no, autocorrect, I typed "shit", I meant "shit") into panniers after "the incident", everything needed to be rearranged and repacked. But first, a doughnut and egg sandwich from (say it with me) Tim Horton's. Munch on that while I pack, and it's on the road at the crack of 9:30. I need a hat/tucque, some more tire plugs (oh, I'm paranoid now), and bear spray. Wal-Mart had the tire plugs. No hats? No, they don't have any winter stuff. Eh? It was 42F last night. Winter never ends in the Yukon if you ask me. But store staff referred me to Canadian Tire next door. A tire shop...for a hat? Ooookay, then.

Canadian Tire is awesome. They have useful stuff. Like hats and bear spray. And a bunch of stuff I don't need at the moment, but noted for later.

I'm the parking lot, as I'm putting in my tire balancer/flat prevention fluid (paranoid...or prepared?) I run into Chris and Virgil again on their BMWs (with their quiet stock exhaust systems). I ran into them several days and a thousand miles ago. Small world, eh? A kid (when you're my age, even a full grown man under 40 is a "kid") comes over wanting to borrow an 8mm Allen key to change the oil on his Triumph. ("I see all these people up here on BMWs, and what did I do? I bought a Triumph.", he said.) My toolkit's out, I've got one, here ya go. He comes back, we all chat, and it turns out the full-grown man Jared is going to Prudhoe Bay, too. Hey, maybe I'll see you out there. We all leave separately, and I roll out at 11:30. So much for gettin' that worm.

(And who the hell is running leaf blower, or whatever, in a campground at quarter to goddamned midnight? I know it's still light out, but yeesh. Sorry, back to our story.)

Ah, the AlCan has saved the good stuff for today. Here, let me illustrate with some juvenile humor.

My girl, Ms. BMW, oh she's a dirty girl:

And I'm just the kind of dirty boy to show her a good time.

I'll ride her like...okay, I'll stop now. For reference, the gas can and bottle on the right used to be red. All in all, the AlCan still isn't that bad. If you're on a bike, that is. I set the electronic suspension to "soft", set the cruise control and just glide over the frost heaves, rarely slowing down much. However, it seems like it would be awfully hard on RVs, or even a car. I saw a lot of trailers bottom out when I was briefly behind them.

I was going to get a pic of the obligatory "welcome to Alaska" sign. But by the time I got there I was caught in frog-strangling rain. All I wanted was to be under the awning at the U. S. Customs stop. So no pic. Trust that I am, indeed, in Alaska. And of course the rain stops as soon as I hit Customs.

I thought about making Delta Junction today, but in a rare display of wisdom and common sense I camped at a nice campground in Tok. I walked over to the restaurant in Tok and spy a Triumph. Could it be? I walk in, and there's Jared from the Wal-Mart parking lot. We wolf down some supper (holy crap, that's a medium pizza? Entire villages have been fed with less.) and agree to ride the Dalton Highway together. Safety in numbers, and stupidity loves company, or something. We'll ride separately tomorrow, meet at the Arctic Circle campground tomorrow evening, then assault Prudhoe Bay together the next day. Jared's been riding motorcycles for all of, get this, a year and a half. Kid's got balls, I'll hand him that. That, or doesn't quite know enough to have any idea what he's in for. Whether he knows it or not, he could use an experienced partner. And I'd like to have someone along as well, 'cause hell, I'm sure no expert.  It's going to be so awesome.

One more pic before I go to sleep. My dirty girl (I promise, last time I beat that joke to the ground) in one of many construction areas, waiting on the pilot car.