June 09 / Day 025, 026 / Vrooms with a View

Sorry for the delay in the bloggery.

Riding large amounts of Rte 2 will lull you into a deep coma. A coma that I just now seemed to awaken from.

That is of course bullshit, BUT, as romantic as it seems, to ride across large areas of flatness, and brownness, and flatness, it turns out, that you can quite simply, lose your mind.

I never thought I’d be so happy to see a busy interstate again.

I stayed overnight at Cut Bank Montana (Don’t worry about it; they know that you DON’T know where that is, and they are quite ok with that.) and I awoke to a brilliant sunny morning, grabbed a quick bite to eat, geared up and got gone.

Kai found a perfect spot to turn 23,000 turns on her odometer. I wasn’t even aware she was nearing this milestone because all I really care about in the trip is miles between gas stops. I was gonna try to Nikon-ize the moment but just as I dug out the camera, I spotted The Roadhouse Bar and Casino in Chester Montana.

I pulled over into the gravel pit of a lot and did indeed dig out my camera, because lined up there, like Mr.Myagis collection in Karate Kid, was a small fleet of old and rusted vehicles, mostly dated from the 50’s.

I counted a yellow VW microbus, 2 or 3 old 4 door Chevys, a Studebaker and an old Plymouth, all captured by my camera, and right up against the Roadhouse Western wall, was a old Dodge Pick-up and a street rod of some sort.

Sounds boring on paper (blog), but lemmie tell ya, a guy gets all sorts of ideas when staring at a lineup of lost era coolness.

I swore I heard myself squeal with delight.

And I’m not even a car guy.

After a gas stop in Havre (pronounced Hav-er, and yes, they don’t care if you know that either), I stopped in Normans Ranch and Western Wear and bought a cowboy hat.

Yes, the above statement is true; I have a brand new bad ass black cowboy hat being shipped to my home as I type.

And please don’t ask me to answer why, when, how or any other question. I wanted a cowboy hat ever since I was young, and I figured, even if it just sat in a closet, I’m gonna buy a real deal cowboy hat, in Montana.

Smiling, I suck another 170 miles off of Kai’s life, and I pause for another fuel stop. A couple on a full dresser gas up along side of me, each of us heading in a different direction we chat it up, as I shed some serious clothing due to a sudden heat wave washing over me. As I shed clothes, I grab my ocean lotion.

Now, in order to apply an ample amount of lotion, I strip off the only two pieces of jewelry I wear. 2 rings, very dear to me, are now placed ON my leather jacket that is now strapped to my bike. The couple and I chat it up for about 10 mins; we say our goodbyes and zip off.

You see what clearly just happened right?

Well, I didn’t

Until I was EXACTLY 9.5 miles down the road.

Now, the question I have for my faithful readers is. What point during this heart stopping moment, do you decide to turn around to search a needle in a haystack or consider it a loss that will stay with you forever.

See, I stopped and thought. 2 small silver rings, falling off my bike in or worse yet, after the gas station parking lot, on a busy Montana town. Is it worth going back almost 10 miles?

Well, my personality trait is if I don’t, THAT will haunt me more than just not finding then.

I turn around, and even though I knew they weren’t GOING anywhere, umm, like a lost DOG, that still didn’t stop me from doing about 100 mph back into town.

Took me under 2 minutes to find them BOTH, in the street, and I had to wait for the red light before I could even go get them.

I did some sort of Fred Astaire side kick, promptly went across the street to McDonalds to grab a celebratory Double Cheeseburger (1 patty for each ring), and re-fueled that 20miles worth AND grabbed a big ole bag of Big League Chew.

Grape.

Only seemed right, as every time my youth baseball team won a game, the Coach treated us to the concession stand, and I always, ALWAYS walked away with a Coca-cola and Big League Chew.

Grape.

Smiling Broader now, AND blowing bubbles, I even started to wave at oncoming bikers, a practice I reserve for like, never, but I was feeling giddy and wanted to share my enthusiasm for this part of the ride.

ALL the Harley riders waved back, but not really anybody else.

I kinda expected that actually. BMW riders never wave back because taking one hand off the handlebars is considered bad form.

The Goldwing riders are usually asleep when I pass them.

The next fuel stop finds me next to Ray and his beautiful Honda something or another.

No offense to Ray, or Honda, I barely recall what IM riding half the time, as I don’t really care, I just like Harleys, and more specifically, RIDING.

So Ray was cleaning bugs off of his pristine machine. He has been on the road for 2 weeks now and I had to do a double take at his bike next to mine. He very proudly gave me a guided tour of his machine, and I was sorta impressed with his stuff.

Custom made seat (He actually sent, AND TOLD ME he sent his BUTT and inseam dimensions out to a seat maker and had this sucker built for his ass)

Heated grips, seat, plug ins for suit.

GPS and Computer system that pretty much put K.I.T.T. to shame. Explained REAL TIME weather, gas mileage, time temperature etc etc etc.

Adjustable on the fly windshield

8, I said 8

Gallon gas tank, capable for almost 450 miles of nonstop riding

Oh, and it’s red

And clean….

Turns out since he only stops for gas, like ONCE a day, he has plenty of time to detail his bike every stop.

Then we look at Kai and my gear.

He just doesn’t get were I’m coming from, and even though he didn’t mean to insult us, he was quite quick to kinda snub us both.

When he wasn’t lookin, Kai lifted up her rear tire and took a little tinkle on his.

And we all know what bike piss does to cast aluminum Honda rims if not taken care of early enough.

I apply some more lotion, check my rings, strap on my helmet and finish the touch with my cheap sunglasses, with lens so dark no one knows my name, and we are off to dust off the remaining Montana miles into NoDak

Minot more specifically.

Roll into my room, shower, forget to blog and takes me a full 3 hours to turn in for bed, what with the delights of 100 channels, fully stacked vending machines adorning the hallway and adjustable showerheads and nozzles.

Early next morning finds my slender black accipiter, ready for her feeding, ready for the ambushing of the asphalt, capturing miles and miles of helpless highway with her set of rubber talons, trying to satisfy our voracious appetite.

But first.

A chocolate muffin.

We roll down Rte 83 south out of Minot, intersect with Interstate 94 East and settle in for another 350 miles into Melrose Minnesota.

Not much occurred today, as I’m sure will be a trend as I get closer and closer to familiar territory, but I’m careful, as success dulls the blade edge, and I try to ride with vigor, but with caution. I find that the closer I get to the end of my adventure, and home, I tend to roll the throttle back a little bit more, and I gotta force myself to ride within not only the states, but MY limits.

All the while, feeling the last fading whimpers of this trip, being slowly crushed by the spiteful winds of reality.

Slow down and blend in well, I remind myself, for I’ll soon be a sleeper once again.

Until I start to fret at the end of some cosmic leash once again, and find myself pouring over my atlas looking for my next excursion.

But first, Illinois.

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 023, 024 / I'm Easy Like Sunday Morning

These bikers are embarrassing. Watching them trying to act cool is like spotting your newly single Uncle at a dance club. You just end up staring at your boots, praying for the moment to pass.

At Glacier National Park, mixed in with the hundreds of cars, are loads of bikes of all shapes, sizes and makes. But these 3 are defiantly standing out, what with their matching outfits, cool multicolor bandanas and over revving their V-twins, begging for attention. They are whipping around slower moving vehicles and shifting up and don and up and down as this park ONLY has a 25 mph speed limit, and they keep finding traffic to hamper their fast forward motion.

The guy in the back of the pack has a GIANT duffle bag hanging on the back of his rear seat. The bag has found its way sideways and is in clear danger of falling off entirely. The bag is also unzipped, I suppose in his haste this morning, leaving his small Tupperware container of what appears to be Granola ready to make an escape.

I’m right behind him, and every time I roll up on him to let him know what is going on, he sees me in his side view mirror and takes that as a sign to roll the throttle back so I can’t ever tell him what’s up.

All for the best, even with my hearty breakfast this morning, I still could use some granola and plan on making a NHL type glove save if I can will it out his bag before the 48 miles are up.

Acting all hardcore with a pink Tupperware container peeking out of his fancy smancy bag. In fact, all together these 3 are slightly less edgy than the Wiggles and maybe one spot above all The Backstreet Boys

Although, A.J. McLean did drink a lot AND do cocaine off a strippers chest.

Allegedly

So yeah

If I can get a picture posted, you, my faithful readers can determine the order.

They wouldn’t last too long on a Saturday Night at the Packers Roost in Hungry Horse Montana.

Not that I have any definite proof that this place is that raw inside, BUT, it was the only place that I have EVER worried about getting shivved while eating BREAKFAST.

I did get a funny look when I turned down a draft with my eggs, at 9:30 am.

My kinda place.

I enjoy seeking out and taking refuge in the undercurrent of people bring quality stuff to the table, and while most of the tourism is taking place in big fancy perfectly crafted “lodges”, with a 12 dollar omelet, and Made in China “I rode the going to the sun highway” t-shirts to purchase on the way out, I sit on a stool, in a well groomed, but structurally questionable bar listening to wild fables that may or may not have happened here last night.

They also have pretty much the best hash browns I have ever had.

BTW, if ya haven’t guessed, I’m in Montana.

I left this blog in Smithers, and from there I went to Jasper Alberta and besides riding down the stunning Icefields Parkway, AND having no trouble re-entering the State, (welcome home son is what the Customs official said to me, WIDE SMILES from yours truly), Alberta is a snooty, snooty little Province.

AND crowded.

Even the tourists seem snooty.

Nice scenery though, if you can afford seeing it, as the Alberta-ans were hell bent on taking all of my remaining Loonies, and I was THRILLED to make it into the States.

The only way Alberta could be any worse, is if they had extradition powers to come grab me and make me ride through there again.

Give me British Columbia every time.

So, after crossing the border, and staying overnight in Whitefish, I decided today would just be a lazy day making my way around the fun roads and scenery of Western Montana.

Now, I am trying desperately to find a way to break loose from the Sunday Sinners Peloton here, and find some open space for myself.

The only way I want to continue riding with the asshole in the back, is if I were poisoned and the only antidote was stuffed deep down in that Granola .

I find a small spot all my lonesome near a rapidly running creek and I sit in relative silence to soak it in and write.

I’m there for about 10 mins until a small RV rolls up, and about 3 couples complete with 7 or 8 garrulous scalawags dressed as small humans exit the rolling home as if it was some clown car, and all make their way into my world, absconding with my silence.

I guide Kai back onto the parkway, fire up the video camera on my homemade handle bar mount, and record some spectacular footage for the next hour or so.

On this beautiful Sunday morning, I’d so much rather be here on my bike thinking about God, then being in church thinking about my bike.

Exiting Glacier, I hit the first fuel pumps, get a thankful and see some lazylurkers under a pavilion eating ice cream cones, and since I never truly rewarding myself from saving a platoon of ducklings, Ice cream I shall have.

And elderly couple from Kalispell bends my ear for about 20 mins or so, talking about a whole array of things, and my cone was finished lazily but quickly.

I launch onto Rte 89 south, and find myself ripping along quite happily, even if the Mountain ranges are progressively getting smaller in my side mirrors, not to be seen again for some time I’m sure.

89 turns into Rte 2 East, and now it actually feels like I’m heading for home.

Speaking of heading East, I wonder how Avi’s doing.

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 021, 022 / Ease On Down The Road

I spent 2 nights held up in Smithers B.C.due to my informant notifying me that Col. Decker was waiting for me in Jasper. See, in 1972 I was part of a crack commando unit that was sent to prison by a military court for a crime we didn't commit. We promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, we survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find us, Well…..you know.

I do love it when a plan comes together.

I had a lot of time to catch up on bills, rest and whiskey drinking yesterday. I emptied half of my 5^th, thus lightening Kai’s load.

But then again, when I have idle hands, I tend to snack….

Thus keeping Kai’s load most likely of identical weight, if not heavier.

Writes “gym” on his list of things to do when he get home.

I make a fuel stop before I leave, and notice that the shelves in the Gas n Go are only chest level. I assume it is intentional, as this is a hugely Native populated town. I have found that most Natives are diminutive in nature, I tower above them and I wonder if my bike has washed ashore the town of Lilliput.

I can feel the stares of these people, and I’m thankful that I showered this morning, as I’m sure it’s not worth their time to scalp someone who has already prescalped himself.

I freely use terms like these people and scalp because, well, my best friend is Injun…so, yeah..That’s how that works.

Right?

Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow was playing over the gas station speaker, and now, flying down The Yellowhead Highway East, I can’t get that song out of my head, and I am saving Uncle Igor for when/if I get bored today, so I am stuck with trying to force it out.

I’ve been in this position before, like the time I got Rick Dees Disco Duck stuck bouncing around my 7 year old brain. Luckily, I wasn’t sure how my young brain worked, and I was quick to let it go when someone handed me a Wooly Willy, a set of Weebles or my G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip.

Oh, speaking of ducks, I was cruising about 80 mph when I saw a couple of tiny ducks following right along with mama duck, and 4 other ducks just in the middle of the road, trying to find their way. I tried desperately to avoid the last duck in line, but it was like Kai was an unstoppable cyborg on a mission, and just flattened it and my heart.

She didn’t actually kill it, just maimed it for life.

Actually, I made all that up. Not the ducks, they were there, but the story had a great ending to it, as yours truly pulled over, and got off my bike to corral the 4 towards the direction of Mama duck.

The Yellowhead isn’t the busiest highway I’ve been on, and I’m sure the 4 would’ve found their way, but I did leave a convoy of tractor trailers about 3 miles back, and I was afraid they would’ve flattened them for sure, as they were not the fleetest of foot (web),

Ducks safe in the grass, I remount and grab some throttle and pass yet another black bear. This was the 5^th one I saw today. The grass is high on the side of the road, and every few miles I just see a black head pop up to take a sniff and a look see.

Reminded me a bit like Whack a Mole

About 40 miles outside of Jasper Alberta, I approach Moose Lake, and man what a gorgeous sight. Seems like all the bodies of water up this way are this Emerald Green of color, and as I sat and soaked in exactly where I was, I happened to look at Kai and wondered just where her “next of VIN” where located at this moment, and how much of the world they get to see.

Hit a few spots of construction that held me up a bit, but it’s no worries, as sitting there allows me to take in the view and write a bit. That is when the flag men (and women) stop chatting my ear off. Man Canadians are a pleasant bunch. Even their signs are overly nice.

When leaving the construction area, they have signs THANKING YOU for your patience and PLEASE resume speed.

Also, the signs are hung on the flanks of a Unicorn, with the cast of Chuck E Cheese behind them, all holding up individually waving Teddy Ruxpins, bidding travelers a Fond Adieu.

And I swear I saw a rainbow right after that.

These Canadians sure are awesome.

Gonna miss this country.

Tomorrow, Jasper National Park, Icefield Parkway, and Gotta Get Get that Montana!

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 020 / Rhymin'and Stealin'

“One lonely Beastie I be, all by myself without nobody, the sun beating down on black knit hat, the air is getting cold, the Pepsi's getting flat”

The cat is kneading my rain pants, and this Canadian situation is like a splinter I my brain. It’s now 10:30 at night and the owners still haven’t arrived. I trudge reluctantly up to “my” cabin and prepare for bed. I know I have a reservation, and I understood the sign, but it I can’t help feeling like Goldilocks.

I am startled by a RV rolling onto the premises, and for a moment I think they are the owners, but the P.T. Cruiser trailing behind it is as muddy as I was 6 hours ago, and I realize I was about to be joined in the free lodging parade tonight.

We discuss the situation, and they decide to hook up and wait as well, and I am off to bed.

It is said that to awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world, but after a restless 7 hours of sleep, I peek outside and find the owner still has not returned home, and that feeling isn’t there for me this morning

I slowly pack up the bike, now feeling very eerie, as I start to think horrible thoughts of the owners meeting their demise either by accident or by the hands of others, and me just sleeping away in their bed. I leave a note on the door asking them to contact me for payment, grab Kai by the hand and she once again sets me free.

Very cold this morning, rather overcast yet again, and I am starting to look ahead and get anxious on returning to the lower 48, where I hope it actually feels like June. Can’t complain too much, because I am still in the belly of these amazing mountains, and I snap off about 1000 more pics along the way.

It’s amazing what you get to see when you actually leave the house.

I realize I had forgotten to eat again yesterday. That happens sometimes. I just hop on and just start riding.

Doesn’t help that my bed and breakfast hosts were too busy being viciously murdered instead of making me eggs.

Scrambled.

I am now starting to daydream about a huge Yukon type breakfast.

Usually my daydreaming revolves around lakes of whiskey with Bar Rafaeli wading out of them naked. I’ll spare you the tawdry details.

For now its eggs.

Scrambled.

90 miles later I arrive at the Bell II lodge and gas. Filled up Kais belly as I go in to fill mine.

Sorry, the guy says, no breakfast today, but we do have cinnamon buns.

I spot a refrigerator with milk for sale behind me, grab a 2%’er and a bun and go out to sit under the clouds.

The buns are getting worse the further South I go.

Kai and I jump back out and are in for a long ride now. 160 miles till next fill up. She is running awesome, and I couldn’t be happier with her performance this month. I’ve drug her through some nasty conditions and she has come through. We’ve become the perfect pair.

She’s the cheese and I’m the macaroni.

mmmm….macaroni and cheese.

I need to get home.

Uncle Igor,

Remember Uncle Igor?

Uncle Igor cues up “The Kill” from 30 Seconds to Mars, and I am in heaven. The world is my playground and the sun is breaking free from its gray restraints. I totally immersed myself in this song, and I find if I concentrate hard enough, I am actually a way better performer than Mr. Leto

What a beautiful lie.

Although, my vocal range is no match for the dancing display I am putting on right now.

I enjoy dancing on my bike, as I’m not permitted in the local clubs anymore. Seems that my smoldering looks and killer dance moves sets off the sprinkler system.

But here I am free to display my prowess, well, sorta, as I do still have to propel a 600 pound machine safely down the road, so most of my moves are limited to just doing the upper body portions of Vincent Vega’s move at Jack Rabbit Slims.

I think you heard me just fine, punchy.

And once again my unique vocal range has called out the black bears, (I’m like some goateed tattooed singing Tarzan) as I pass about 6 of them in various locations. The black bears spook easy, and are quite hard to photo.

But

The brown bears, now I have found they enjoy the publicity. I spot my second brown bear on my right, and slow my moto and do a quick u turn and sit and admire.

First of all, these roads are amazing in that there is almost NO traffic, long, long horizons, which makes for slowing to catch wildlife, (or spotting Pa bikers stopped in the middle of the road), easy to do.

This bear just hung out forever, nose down, and every now and again, would check me out to see what’s up, but in no hurry whatsoever. I get a few awesome snapshots, thank him and turn to let him be.

I don’t wear out my welcome, for I have no desire to be stampled, stomped on, crushed, flattened or otherwise chewed on, and I feel 4 or 5 quality pics are enough.

Hours later I am entering Gitwangak, a native town and also the true end of my Alaska journey, as the Cassiar has ended at the Yellowhead once again.

I grab some more fuel, feeling a bit reflective, but happy to be in some real civilization, grabbed the throttle, got some action from the back section and FLAME ON, I’m gone.

Uncle Igor’s heartlight is dimming just in time, as he and Kai bring me into Smithers British Columbia for the evening.

As night folds its arms around me, I have a Jack n Coke to celebrate my journey.

I have many miles to go till I get home, and much more to see, but for now,

These have been the echoes of Alaska.


Peace Grease and Beats.

June 09 / Day 019 / J J J Jaded

All I hear this morning is the Harley twins dragging the pool table down the hall to their bikes, and Tim talking their ear off. At least it sounds like a pool table, but I KNOW its Tim, doing that name thingy again.

I leave my room and Dale is asking Mike (the owner), if he can take the jukebox with, and then I look outside, and see Tom, in an unprecedented move, trying to pack my bike on his bike.

Now I think they are overdoing it.

Tim has now made his way back into the greeting area, taking to everyone he sees, and John is just sitting there smiling away.

I fear John has a bell tower in his future.

I say goodbye to the crew, fire up Kai and guide her 2 miles back north to the infamous Signpost Forest. During the construction of the Alaskan Highway in 1942, an Army soldier posted a sign indicating how far away home was, and people have been encouraged to add signs since then. Over 64,000 signs have been nailed in this small area.

64,001 signs.

When I was packing for this trip, I made a big ole cardboard sign saying Alaska or Bust 09, headed by my blog website, and bungeed it to the back of Kai. And there it was, since June 4^th, encouraging people all along the highway to wave and talk to me at rest stops, until I had my border situation.

When I unpacked my bags in that little Customs garage, my spirit was bruised, and upon repacking, under the watchful eye of CO1, 2 and 3, I just decided to throw my sign back IN my bag, to be hauled home. But, after 2 minutes of checking out the Signpost Forest, I dug in my bag, got two nails and a hammer from the adjoining Visitors Centre, and found a PERFECT spot for my little sign. Just then I realized that I did indeed make it to Alaska!

I stood proudly over my sign, snapped a pic or two and returned to Kai, pointed her back North for 10 miles to Rte 37.

The mighty Cassiar Highway.

The Cassiar runs parallel to the ALCan and is considered to be less crowded and more scenic. The negative is the road is very narrow, less gas stops, crappier road conditions, and used primarily by fast moving logging trucks.

Logging trucks that hate vehicles and hog the road, as they are there to make as many hauls as possible.

And true to form, right off the bat not even 2 miles in, a logging truck absolutely flew by and fragged me with all sorts of road debris.

Now I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure I saw the truck driver personally throw a handful of rocks out the window as well.

Legend has it that each driver keeps a 5 gallon bucket in-between his front seat and they have a point system, for picking off tourists, playing for a fat reward at the end of the season.

Ok, I made all that up.

I find a little spot next to Blue River to park and sit in silence. I’m only hanging out for a minute when a guy on a mountain bike rolls in from the South. Full of smiles he quickly engages me in conversation, talking about what he’s seen just in the last week.

His name is Ben, and he is from Vancouver. Been on his bike for a while now, averaging about 100 kilometers a day, which is pretty damn good through this type of terrain and temperature. Camping out the whole way, picking up dishwashing jobs at restaurants for a day or 2. He’s not destitute, just on an adventure. His plan is to ride to Anchorage to see his gal, then perhaps “scam” a ferry ride home.

We shake hands, and by the time I get my gear back on, he is already out of sight.

100km a day, I can see how now.

I find my way down about 30 more miles, find a side road leading to Boya Lake and go have a look see.

Absolutely stunning here, and thinking of Ben, and everyone else I ran into, I wish I camped my way around here. Then again, the sun is out right now and making that thought an easy one to choke down.

I cruise to Jade City, and walk around the Jade mining store. They have so much jewelry for sale and all hand crafted. Jade is mined not even 10 miles away, and the woman tries to come up with about 100 new designs a year. Pretty ambitious. She says that Jade is a difficult stone to carve, and has to use diamond tips, thus reflecting on the price of all her stuff. Diamond tips, how romantic I think as I fall for this hook, line and sinker.

As I hand over my money for some gifts, I just picture Richie Rich, Scrooge McDuck and that little guy from the Monopoly Board game with the monocle, up in the stores comfy loft, all praising her selling skills, and rolling around in large piles of currency. Herself personally walking MY hundred upstairs to add to the pile as soon as I’m gone.

Then, IT happened.

I rounded a curve, and there it was. A HUGE black bear, just standing on the road, looking south. I smash ceramic pads to my rotor and I all but skid Kai to a halt, not even 100 feet away.

All the while I was just SCREAMING along to Bloodsimple “Straight Hate”

I’m SO metal, I rust when it rains.

Now, this bear turns and looks towards me, trying to figure out just what the hell is all this commotion coming from Kais pipes and my mouth. On four feet he sniffs my direction, and I have to be very careful here.

I am on a bind curve, whereas any vehicle coming around at any decent speed will def have me under their grill in no time, but there is a BEAR in front of me. I take my chance on the NOW instead of the WHAT IF and reach for my camera, and I was able to get off an amazing shot of the empty road, because, as soon as my camera was powered on, Black Bear simply smiled, and walked back into the woods.

I was really bummed, but what a sight. That image will stick with me for some time!

That and Carmen Electra cupping her breasts and telling me how amazing I was last night, but that’s not really the thing to talk about here.

Now, let e try to type out what the Cassiar had in store for me next.

See, 2 short weeks ago, they had tremendous mud-slides on this road, shutting down a huge section of it for a couple of days, while I was on the ALCan. But the area, although passable, was completely trashed by the slides and cleanup.

10-15 kilometers (about 5-8 miles), of thick, slippery, never ending mud, on 7% grades, DOWNHILL awaited me. Kai and my lower region were completely caked within a mile, and her back end was so squirrely I couldn’t safely get her above 15 mph the whole way down the mountain. Trucks were flying up the North side, dousing me like Carrie Bradshaw in the opening credits of Sex in the City, while trucks ride my ass, awaiting their turn to splash, I’m sorry, pass me.

I must have a golf ball sized tumor in my head, pressing up against whatever it is that naturally stops people from making these kinds of road trips.

I managed safely to Dease Lake, almost dumping Kai only about 17 times and find solace in the only RV Park in this tiny town. A reclusive “car wash” is tucked in the corner of the park, and a mere 2 loonies (bucks), grants Kai and my nether regions a pleasant hose down.

Very entertaining!

Feeling better, we race the remainder 50 miles to Iskut, a predominantly Native town, harboring Red Goat Lodge, where I rented a cabin for the evening.

Its 8:30 pm here as I type, I have been INSIDE a cabin for 3 hours now, showered and watching Satellite TV , with the owners cat on my lap.

The owners, btw, who’ve I’ve not even met yet.

There is a note on the office door stating.

If door is locked, we are away and will return shortly, please pick a campsite, cabin and make yourself at home. We will come for the funds at a later time.

Oddly, I have gotten used to this kind of behavior out of the Canadians.

But I still have the TV on, as without it, it feels like I’ve broken into the place, as I am the only one here.

The cat seems to trust me though, as he is now asleep. What a great lap cat, I wonder if there’s room for him in my tour pack?

I’m starting to think like Tom.

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 018 / Atomic Batteries to Power. Turbines to Speed

Porcupines can actually run rather fast. I heard they can run up to 30 mph.

I also heard that Megan Fox has not been showing up for the Transformers 2 after party’s cause she’s been hurrying back to her hotel room pining away for my phone call.

I’m playing hard to get.

I’m really not sure if any of those above statements are true, but what IS true is I do not have quills protruding from my pair of Dunlop’s, so fast he must be.

I got a relatively early start this morning, despite the fact that I only have 280 miles to cover today.

Leaving Whitehorse, Yukon, I soon cross the Yukon River Bridge, cover about 80 miles or so under a refulgent morning orb before I hit Johnson’s Crossing for my first fuel stop.

They are a decent size RV campsite, with bakery and gas on premises. The bakery advertises that they have “Scrumptious home baking” and “World Famous Cinnamon Buns” so after fueling up; I grab a “World Famous Cinnamon Bun”, a tall jug of milk (not advertised), and have a sit on a park bench to indulge in some breakfast and sunshine.

The World Famous Cinnamon Bun WAS good, but I’ve had better this past week, but they must’ve had something going for them, for after eating half of one, I swore I saw a large Fox stride by me and disappear under a SunDancer model 19 foot RV. I took another bite and that little sucker re-appeared and took off from where he came from.

Funny thing was, the campground was busy with activity, and I was the only one who noticed this.

I was also the only one with a World Famous Cinnamon Bun in hand, so I have to speculate what “secret” ingredient is in the heart of this recipe.

I continue South on the ALCan, enjoying a different view of the mountains that were in my rear view mirror just a short week ago, cross the long grated bridge over the confluence of the Nisutlin River and the Teslin Lake, stretch Kai’s legs out for another 70 miles or so and roll into the Rancheria Lodge for lunch.

If you recall some days back, I stopped at Rancheria for breakfast that I couldn’t finish, so I literally squealed with delight when I found to be in the area for lunch. I do so love coming back down the same way I went up, as all the places I enjoyed eating at, I get to try a different thing on the menu AND they all remember me, asking me how my trip went and the like. Some of these people and places really resonate and I’m already looking forward to my next trip here.

Its only 80 miles from Rancheria to Watson Lake and The Airforce Lodge once again, and I make that 80 miles in just under an hour, as the roads were clear and friendly.

I tried to keep Kai on a short leash; I tried to calm her down,

But you can’t fight the Seether

I walk in, dripping of motorcycle and Mike greets me at the door with a broad smile and meaty handshake, surprised to see me back so soon. I tell him due to a little bout of homesickness I am returning 2 days early, but not to worry, as tomorrow I enter the Cassiar Highway and wind my way down into more uncharted territory, so even though I’m heading back, it’s still new from here on out.

2 BMW’s roll in as Mike and I were catching up, and soon 2 MORE BMW’s stumble in, and 20 mins later 2 Harley’s rumble in, and soon we were all trading fun stories and I find, since I am now the Veteran of the ALCan, I am inundated with questions on what to expect. I give some details, but coy with most. Don’t wanna take ALL the adventure out of their ride.

The first 2 BMW riders, Tim and John, are really nice guys. Tim is the talky one though, and find out he is a pharmaceutical salesman, which makes sense, as he is doing that obvious trick by mentioning my name at the end of EVERY question he asks, a trick that is not only there to help remember ones name, but to also make the potential client feel special.

He and John are both from Nebraska, and I wish John would talk more. He seems like he’s got a lot to say actually, if Tim wasn’t so busy saying my name 100 times.

I feel like stopping him later and telling him he’s been calling me by the wrong name this whole time, if only for my own amusement.

The two others on the BMW’s mention their names, but they are German and they talk funny, and since I’m racist, I didn’t even bother learning their names.

Maybe if they introduced themselves in front of Tim, I’d remember their names.

Dale and Tom are on the Harleys and man oh man, do we a spectacle here.

Kai looks absolutely malnourished compared to what all the other bikes are hauling, but Dale and Tom brought their entire homes with them.

Holy Shit I have never seen such STUFF.

And btw Dale and Tom are very, VERY large men. Only saying that if you remember the Iowa/shower situation the last time I was here.

They remove bungees, then collectively begin ripping down tents, camping utensils (we are at a LODGE parking lot btw), empty Jerri Cans (a lot of good that 2 gallons of emptiness will do for ya in an emergency), water bottles, and walking sticks

WALKING STICKS, as if you can’t find a stick in the woods to fashion into a walking one.

And that’s just the stuff they removed BEFORE getting to their tourpacks and saddlebags.

The Dale and Tom show belly laughed at me and my gear and ask me how long do I plan on heading North for, and that’s when I surprised them all and told them I’ve been on the road for 18 days now and this is all I need with. Mid sentence, I lift my luggage off in ONE complete motion, haul it inside and I’m done.

To be fair, I was still in school when the Trapper Keepers came out, so I am so much the master of compartmentalizing.

Then they all start ragging on my gear, or lack thereof, but then I started to inform them of the wonders of living on the cheap and surviving just as well, and I can see the sweet sweet hue of jealousy green seep into their eyes.

I just hope no-one trys to copy me, my goodness it would be bedlam. I can’t even get a close up view of Teslin Lake for fear I’ll see my reflection in the ripples and fall in love.

This whole trip has been hauntingly perfect as far as the road conversation is concerned, and it continues in the Airforce parking lot, with everyone talking about fun weather, wildlife spotting, slight mishaps, fires, mudslides, gas prices, camping, great food and the like, but now Tom here is screwing it all up, as he starts going into great detail about what he’s done to his Harley.

There are very few things on Earth I care about less, then talking about how many goodies you’ve slapped on your Harley.

Even if I had to make something up that I cared less about than how many goodies you’ve slapped on your Harley, it would most likely end up suspiciously sounding like how many goodies you’ve slapped on your Harley.

Holy Strawberries Batman, I’m in a Jam.

If only I could push a button concealed within a bust of Shakespeare that stood on a desk, causing a bookcase to slide back and reveal a Batpole that I could slide down and escape this conversation.

Luckily a German unveiled Vodka from his pannier and Tom was immediately distracted.

Tune in tomorrow, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.

For its time to ride the Cassiar Highway!!

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 016, 017 / Good Mourning

Had just about as perfect as a last night in Talkeetna as I could have possibly envisioned, and rested my head on my pillow feeling bittersweet, for as awesome as it was, I’m leaving this town in the morn. But no worries, as hours of smiles and gaiety await me in Anchorage and surrounding areas 150 miles down the Parks Highway.

Turns out the roads in Anchorage are paved with Fool’s Gold.

Sporadic rain washes over me the entire way, and I now have a shiver I can’t seem to un-shake. I already miss the laid back atmosphere around the Latitude and that feeling is heightened when I mingle with the afternoon rush hour in the heart of the city.

5 hours later, after a really crappy dinner at an overcrowded bar, I felt the most alone I have ever felt in my life. I couldn’t wait to get back to my room and erase this day. After a restless night sleep, the next morning greeted me with more crappy weather, and I had ZERO desire to ride South to the coast. Deciding to give Anchorage a few more hours to reveal something worth sticking around for, I grab some breakfast at Gwennies Old Alaska Restaurant, crossed the street to grab a T-Shirt from the Harley Dealer, and headed back to pack my stuff up. The sun was peeking out but my spirits were staying dark, so I decided to get the hell out of Dodge. I didn’t know where I was going to go until I saw the sign pointing to Tok Alaska (near the border), and I reset my instrument dials North.

When you leave a funeral, that drive is as important as any stretch of road you’ll travel on. You get a renewed appreciation for life.

Took me 6 hours of riding, a nice dinner and a comfortable night sleep in the quiet town of Tok to get my swagger back.

A high like my last night in Talkeetna should never tried to be immediately followed by anything else. The crash is substantial.

The sun was brilliant today, and I feel like a million bucks. As much as I’m going to miss my girl Alaska, I had to leave her prematurely and what I believe on good terms. I hope we remain friends.

I make it to the Alaska/Canadian Border with no issues, grab another Snickers and snap off a few more pictures, one with my face actually in the frame, mostly to prove that I did this trip.

A lot of gals think I’m of rough looking character, and taking more pictures aint gonna help sway their opinion. Let’s face reality here, if you saw me walking past your kids playground, you wouldn’t even wait to roll down the window before opening fire.

I get passed by a blast of BMW and Dreadlocks while I’m looking through the lens of my Nikon. I roll back Kai’s grip and get a mile down the road, crest the slight incline, and all I see is a cloud of dust and broken BMW parts hither and yon. Dreadlocks got in some thick gravel and had a bit of a tumble.

I help him collect his thoughts, senses and his things, and soon I am guiding him to Buckshot Bettys for some lunch to help settle his nerves.

His name is Avi, 23, born in Queens NY, flew to Juneau to hang with his brother a few years ago and has lived in Fairbanks the last couple years, figures he’s gotta get out now. Bought a used BMW, has only 2,000 miles under his belt, and he’s riding to Michigan.

And people think IM crazy.

He reminds me of me at that age.

As I know, and he is proving, if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun!

I admire his pluck, and I’m his wingman for the next 200 miles, trying to help him navigate the most horrendous stretch of the AlCan.

I assume he did fine, lost him around Deconstruction Bay, but he knows I’m staying in Whitehorse, and I know his route. I hope I see him around the trail.

My night ends up back at the Airport Chalet in Whitehorse, and I have no idea why I’m here, as this room is like an abusive relationship. Full of promises of good times, but when ya show up, it always lets ya down, but yet I keep coming back.

Sturgis, Daytona, Myrtle Beach, Laconia. I’ve been missing them all these last few years to prepare for this moment. Bike Rallies so heretical to the immediately of the easily digestible and the immediately fileable. I prefer trips that you grow into, and that grows around you. I have the thirst for the shock of the new and trips that reward total absorption. Trips that are inherently difficult to market to most, but have a pull on my soul way beyond the ride to the local Hooters.

This road is where myths fade to legends.

Avi and I are going to be just fine.


Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 013, 014, 015 / A Drinking Town with a Fishing Problem

Talkeetna.

Bill. The guy you see for a room. A bit terse, but seems to know an awful lot about an awful lot, so it’s wise to engage him in conversation. If he’s here of course, for Friday the 19^th he ships out for Prudhoe Bay for some summer work. Good money and good fishing apparently, thus leaving a position at the bar that I might have to look into.

Christina. Morning Day shift Gal of all trades. She commands a room. Room booker, the towns sports score relayer, food taster, drink maker and smartest gal I have ever been around. Clears a crossword puzzle in minutes. Just don’t bother her before 9am.

Ruby. Attitude with smoldering come hither looks. 2 tattoos adorning her right arm, and I’m quite sure I caught a glimpse of one on her left hip bone, right above the waist line. I heard every now and again she takes quick bath’s in the lake. Always busy, no time for a lot of laughs and smiles, but when she does, it’s worth the wait. First nights lineups of Jack n Cokes were delivered without a word, and tasty. Second night however, a hello came with the much stiffer lineup. I think I’m warming her up. Looking forward to tonite.

Shawna. Single handily put her family into the Chevy truck, and came up here for vacation 8 years ago. They never left. A smiling dervish of passion for life. Quirky in the most exciting of ways. Never met a stranger I assume. Family has a cabin up the road with an outhouse, dirt floor (easier to clean up after dragging in broken ATV’s to repair), and separate cabin (for the 16 year old daughter of course. Gives her a sense of independence while quelling her restlessness). Runs a gift shop that I found myself in numerous times just to talk.

Kym. Barstool occupier, sewing extraordinaire. Sarcasm exudes from her lips constantly which instantly makes her my favorite person thus far. Finds Pennsylvania to be boring and staid, despite the fact she admitted she has never ventured East of the Mississippi. She is resolute in her opinion, even jokingly? adhering an anti PA sign in her craft shop window just for me!

Sadie. Kyms Pooch, also the inspiration behind the Latitude 62 Sadie Burger.

Trigger Twig. I didn’t ask. But, a former Maryland-er, woke up one day 15 years ago and went to Talkeetna. Tattoo behind his ear, and says EVERYOINE knows him. Not sure what that means.

Kim. Rides a 04 Softail. Works when he wants, and right now he wants to ride and visit the bar. Implores me to open up my shop in Anchorage and make a go of it here in Alaska. He is a wise man indeed.

Elaine. Runs a gift shop on Main Street. LOVES the telephone, as she is always on it, but took enough of a break to indulge me in the local musicians and what cd’s to buy. I shipped 3 or 4 home today. Had the line of the week. “While everyone is out making a living, I’ve been here making a life” She MIGHT be smarter than Kim and Christina.

Celeste. Found Worldbyroad.com through Craiglist.com and has been on the road since. Pretty with an engaging smile, she indulged me storys from all over the world. Great web site. Wish I thought of it.

Talkeetna. 700 plus residents. 10 real reasons to want to move.

Correction, 11.

Ruby just started her shift, and her jeans got lower, and her top got higher, showing off way more ink than I envisioned. Quoting Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke,

"Oh boy, she knows exacty whats she's doin'. She's drivin' us crazy and lovin'every minute of it"

I think I'll have another round


Pease Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 012 / A Satisfied Mind

Now, this gas jockey clearly see’s me at the pump. In fact, to prove that I’m not a “run-off”, I discard my helmet, remove my sunglasses AND whip out a wad of cash, and this guy has the stones to just stare at me through his big window.

I even grabbed the pump CLOSEST to his window, WITH my plate towards it, all just so I don’t have to pre-pay.

I hate pre-pay

HATE pre-pay.

I don’t even know what I’m doing at this pump, as its 3.53 a gallon, clearly taking advantage of the fact that he is the only pump in town.

I know he probably isn’t the owner, as I stroll in with way to much cash for what I need, but I still hold instant disdain for him.

I’m surprised that I have disdain in my heart this far into my Alaskan trip, but disdain it is.

I pump in my whopping 2 ½ gallons, go in to collect the change and he says

“Will that be everything, or do you need anything else?”

I know he just said that to irk me, because who has money to buy that Charleston Chew after paying 30 cents more a gallon for fuel.

If he any decency, he’d shoot himself in his big toe, preferably his left, take his time carefully wrapping it up in a bandage, then take his right heel and smash it down on it like 6 times, THEN hand over my change.

Plus, like a penny.

Disdain I say.

But its short lived, because I AM on the Parks Highway, IN Alaska, after having a fantabulous 2 days in Fairbanks, (sans the Harley Dealer, but we would get into that here) and heading to Talkeetna.

I’ve read recently that Talkeetna was voted 2^nd most desired place to visit, coming in a close second to Megan Fox’s jeans.

Sorry

I made that up, but, have you seen Megan Fox, that statement can’t be far from the truth.

I’m making some good time, and I’m not even ashamed by it. You see, I’ve come to the comfortable conclusion that I am NOT a tourist, or, even good at traveling.

I just like to ride.

I love the clunking of the gears, my goatee flipping up to tickle my ear, the massaging of the throttle through a lazy curve, the gassing out of a tight one. I get off on long straight roads, choosing between locking the grip and sitting back, or on the jazz, head down, chasing the horizon with everything my bike has got. I love the good sting of a large object fragging my face, and the sheer elation when I duck in time to miss one. My eyes watering behind cheap sunglasses, and the art of cleaning them out at full speed. Love feeling pain in my rump after hours of riding, and the instant relief when I change foot positions. I love hours of perfect sunlight and testing myself in a thunderstorm. I love the high I get on the road and the crash when I park for the night. Just me, Kai and Uncle Igor, The Peace, The Grease and The Beats, and I don’t care what road we are on.

Which is why I have no need to stop at Skinny Dicks Halfway Inn, one of the places I told myself I would, or about 100 other places I’ve passed these last 12 days or so?

See, not only do I not like to stop, but, I absolutely hate myself when I become a tourist. Mulling about in a gift shop, looking at the very same Alaska mug I’ve seen 12 days in a row and every other gift shop. Sure, I like “stuff”, and more importantly, like buying “stuff” for others, but, I like to ride more than anything.

And today I have all day to ride, cutting trails through the cotton skies. Skies brimming with sunshine and NO rain in the forecast. First day mind you, that NO rain is predicted.

Which is why I’m torn between my emotions today? I don’t necessarily go looking to ride in a thunderstorm, but I’m widely entertained by the visual of tens of bikers jostling for the last piece of dry gravel beneath the abutment of a bridge.

Could even the Super Friends sort my dilemma out within the Halls of Justice? Stay tuned.

This blog has gotten so dull so quickly. I’d be surprised if anyone is even still reading. In fact, I’d be even more surprised if you haven’t printed this out, wadded it up into a paper ball and started batting it back and forth like a 3 month old kitten.

Calico.

Speaking of kittens, or anything with paws, I have seen absolutely NO wildlife to mention or photograph. I’m a little bummed, but I’m not really worried.

If I learned anything as a child, mainly from cartoons, is that wildlife comes out at the end, usually the bunny and duck shows up first, both dressed in top hats, canes and tuxedos with tails, singing in unison.

“Overture, curtains, lights, this is it, the night of nights, No more rehearsing and nursing a part, we know every part by heart”

“Overture, curtains, lights, this is it, you’ll hit the heights and oh what heights we’ll hit”.

“On with the show this is it.”

“Tonight what heights we’ll hit,”

“On with the show this is it!!”

Then, that Is always followed by a bird (tweety of nature), a wise ass kitten, a Gold Miner from Yosemite named Sam, a large hormonal skunk, a stuttering Pig, a cat with a lisp, a true Alaskan Bushman, a roadrunner, a coyote and finally a Rooster.

Very excited!!!

Kai gets yet another thankful, and we are a mere 30 miles from Talkeetna. We make our way into town clean as Kleenex, and find our resting spot for the evening, The Latitude 62 Lodge.

I’m not even parked and I’m in love already.

I’ve seen pics on the internet of this place, and was digging it, but ya never know until you actually arrive on the site.

I’ve been fooled by pics before. Like when I ordered that wife from Russia.

I’ll spare ya the details, but turns out he had a secret.

But the lodge is defiantly not a disappointment. Kai is parked beneath my window, I muscle my pack inside, shower, and find my way to the bar,

Exactly 26 feet down the hall from my room.

There is nothing more, than whiskey and rock and roll.

I’m liking this vacation, although Alaska is getting spendy, I’m dropping money like Monty Brewster.

But that aside, if you know anything better than what I’m doing, you should tell me about it.

So write me a letter

Seal it with a licorice kiss

Send it pony express

To Santa on candy cane lane

And he will get back to me with your results.

Peace Grease and Beats

June 09 / Day 011 / Going Going Gone

4000 miles I say to Phil the bartender at the Westmark Lounge. I don’t even blink an eye at this point; it’s as if people do this kind of thing all the time.

I am chatting it up with Phil, who incidentally, went to college about 40 miles away from my shop’s doorstep, and Shawna, who is pretty much the prettiest gal I’ve seen in 10 days.

It’s almost like she was created by hand by a nerd with a chip on his shoulder solely to make all the other gals on Earth who aren’t Shawna feel bad.

The Jack and Cokes are sliding nice tonight, and they were a perfect compliment for the absolutely fantastic burger I had an hour ago from Buckshot Betty’s.

Yes, Buckshot Betty’s in Beaver Creek Yukon. Let me tell you the 90 or so things I love about this joint. I literally said to the guy who was serving me in this 200 square foot cabin restaurant that I had to travel 4000 miles to have the best burger I’ve ever had.

2 words. Sourdough Bun.

A trio of Yukon road maintenance crew rolled in for dinner, and the 4 of us sat around talking like we were old friends. It got to be so comfortable, that when 5 other tourists rolled in, I kinda gave them that whole, roll the eyes look clearly showing my distaste of how these tourists just march in a ruin a comfortable dinner between friends.

I’m getting a little too comfortable up here in the Yukon.

3 more Jack n Cokes are finished off by 11pm, and I am feeling quite good. Hey, it’s Saturday night, AND the lounge is ON motel property (down the hall and out the door from my room), AND I’m actually crossing into ALASKA tomorrow, so, yeah, drunk I get and walk back to my room.

And by walk I mean, lurching forward and aft, while moving in a slight zig zag direction, trying not to mate my toes, knees or skull with anything metal, concrete, wood or human.

I draw the blinds, blocking out the midnight sun, which by the way, is JUST that. It’s like its 3pm outside. I turn on the radio and listen to my first ever, National Aboriginal Top 30 Countdown.

This is a trip I will not soon forget, no matter how drunk I get.

Buckshot Betty’s is open at 8am for breakfast, and I yearn desperately for 8am breakfast at Buckshot Betty’s, but, its POURING rain, AND COLD, so I decide to just get my gear on, and get this ride knocked out.

Who knows how long the border crossing will take today.

The border is 21 miles away, and about 18 or so of that is what they call no man’s land. A section of road, that is past the Southbound Canada Customs and Entering Alaska, and lemmie tell you, at 8am, in the pouring down rain, it’s kind of a freaky place to be.

A half mile or so away from the US border, there is a monument signifying such, and Kai and I stopped to get her pic taken.

Speaking of pics, what I had pictured so many times in my dreams for this moment, was a BRIGHT sunshiny day, with hordes of RV’s and such lined up for a mile or so, just a general hub-bub of activity, and me, sneaking off to behind the sign, to take a shot of whiskey to cement the occasion.

What is was was, rainy and chilly, me, and a slight breeze.

That shot of whiskey warmed me up though.

I was so alone and just soaking in the monument that it dawned on me that I should still be keeping an eye out for bears.

Hey, ya gotta figure a Grizzly would wisen up to the idea that this is a popular spot for humans to gather, and would make easy targets while they distract themselves looking at pointy concrete monuments through the lens of their Nikons, and trying to place their boots EXACTLY on the border sign to simulate being in 2 country’s at once.

Not that I did any of those dorky predictable things.

And oh yeah, border crossing onto Alaska.

6 mins

4 of which were discussing the proximity of my hometown and Scranton, the guards hometown.

I stop and get gas at the Border Stop and Shop, and indulge in my first American Breakfast in a week.

It was a Snickers.

The roads immediately got wicked good and even though it was rainy it was a terrific ride to Tok, 60 or so miles inside the border.

I find myself at Fast Eddies Restaurant mainly to warm up, but then was told by another biker that they have amazing food, so breakfast it was.

I seemed to have room for it even after 1 ounce of chocolate.

The biker, Dieter, was riding a BMW, was heading south, hadn’t ordered yet and wondered if I wanted to eat with him.

Dieter is an architect from Newport Oregon. Pushing 60 he says but doesn’t look a day over 50 I think. He is on his 10^th trip to Alaska and we sat and discussed roads, bikes, travel and the like, talking like we were a tight as my friends at Buckshot Betty’s. This is the stuff I really didn’t think about when I was dreaming about this trip, but this is the stuff I dig the absolute most. Many years ago, I found myself pathetically hanging onto the edges of things to which I didn’t belong. Motorcycling changed all of that.

This meeting of strangers isn’t just a biker’s world either, as I have personally overheard on several occasions RV’ers hooking up, spontaneous convoys making their way up and down the mountains. Much fun!!

Had a huge terrific breakfast and just like that, Dieter vanished like a virgin on Prom night.

It’s an absolute PERFECT ride into Fairbanks.

Not weather wise, for that would be silly, but the roads were long, straight and perfectly groomed.

Found a hotel room in the form of a little cottage on the banks of the Chena River to settle in for 2 whole days.

Gonna relax, have a few drinks, get Kai attended to thoroughly, and indulge in some Fairbanks before I’m off to the remote location of Talkeetna, the town which beckoned me to Alaska to begin with.

See ya on the other connectivity side~

Peace Grease and Beats.

June 09 / Day 010 / Knockin' On Heavens Door

My rides are a perfect mixture of careful planning and free form. Rides that find refuse from the swarm of disposable banality and derivative mediocrity that’s been spreading through the motorcycle community like a raging virus, a virus extinguishing the pockets of cool that used to make riding with others worthwhile.

I miss my friends, and the rallies we all gather at every year, but, if I kept doing that, year after year, I would’ve never met Thora, Reagan and Patches, the 3 dogs that dot my journey some 4000 miles away from home.

I rolled into Whitehorse yesterday and immediately seeked out the Harley Davidson dealership. Snidley Whiplash and his dog Reagan had already beaten me there. Exchanging head nods at a gas station in Watson Lake, Snidley (I never got his name, but he had that wicked moustache like Snidley and he sorta talked like him, AND he was always riding like Dudley Do-Right was right on his tail, so it all added up) and his Fox Terrier had just gassed up and heading back to the campground. The next morning they pulled out the same time I did from my hotel and soon left me in the dust. We have been “meeting” at pumps and places ever since.

I asked P.J., the service tech if he had time to give Kai a wash and a once over and an hour later, a quickly detailed and newly tightened up Kai and I were off with a brand new spanking T-shirt back to the Airport Chalet, located right across the Whitehorse Airport on the Alaskan Highway.

BTW, Kai was washed, but me, well; let’s just say I just keep getting a little bit grimier as the week goes on.

The Yukon Harley sales gal and her dog Patches, were sweet and didn’t seem to notice my condition. That was rather impressive actually.

I would hide in a mummy’s coffin leaned up against the wall if I saw the likes of me coming.

ZOINKS is right!

After showering I sat at the Chalet’s Bar, had a few drinks and somewhat lackluster of a dinner. By the end of the evening, I ended up chilling with the tender and some locals, all talking hockey while watching the Pittsburgh Pens win the Stanley Cup over the Wings IN Hockey town!!

Even though I dig the Flyers, it was still really rad to represent Pa’s cheering section this far North into Canada.

The next morning finds it very cold, but I suck it up and soon find my head in the curl heading to Beaver Creek, my last stop overnight before trying to get into Alaska.

Feckin’ Canadians, at least toss in a 6 pack of Labatt’s up into that cold front that insists on accompanying my ride.

Looking over my vast wheel estate, I couldn’t help to think how small the fish, how big the ocean. The Alaska Highway has thrown surprise after surprise my way, and today was no different. 80 miles or so from Whitehorse, I arrive at Haines Junction and am staring wide-eyed at Mount St Elias, which rises some 18, 000 feet above sea level.

I top Kai off at a gas station right smack dab in front of the base of the mountain. I walk in and say to the clerk that he has the prettiest view to work under each day. Him and his wife just mumble something, take my money and go back to watching their stories. Of interesting note, the shopkeepers were of what appeared to be of Korean descent, and were taking in a Korean taped soap opera.

I dwelled on the mumbling attitude for a few miles, thinking there is some poor slob crunching numbers in a windowless office in some random gridlocked town, making identical money, who would trade work environments any day of the week, and they still appear to hate life. Oh well. I spend the next 10 mins or so taking loads of pics and thinking of their attitude so much so that I make a left instead of a right.

Significant, as a RIGHT is taking me to my next hotel, the LEFT does not.

I go about 3-4 miles, clueless of my carelessness, when I pass swiftly by a very small sign saying – Haines Alaska 200 kilometers.

WHAT?

HAINES?

Thank god I even SAW the sign, as once I’m on the road I need to be, I’m usually about the wildlife and not the signs. Stop the bike, shut her off and dig out my map, turning pages seeing my mistake as I look around keeping a wary eye out for bears or Moose that seem to think a wayward biker would be excellent to have its way with this mid morning.

Man is it quiet here.

Turn around, laughing at how lucky I was, and soon find Snidely, Reagan and a new fellow tagging along. The 3 of us ride together for quite some time, until we pass a couple of stranded kids peering into a old Suburban packed WAAAY past full. I lost Snidely and fellow when my Boy Scout mentality kicked in.

Stranded kids needing no assistance, I continue on the next 100 miles by my lonesome. No wildlife. Just a child in time and I’m ecstatic to be in the nick of it. Strange that with acres and acres of open spaces to test under my boots these last few days, I nonetheless ride straight, following a pattern I barely detect (if at all), never feeling constrained, yet, constrained.

I’m unabashed in my bondage to the road, and my goal, demanding no rescue from it.

Next gas stop finds Kevin, Mom and Thora hanging out. We greet each other like old friends, talking about the last night or two, and when I came out from the restroom, they were gone again. Either to be never seen again or passed 5 mins down the highway.

I climb up places called Bear Creek Summit, Boutillier Summit and into Soldiers Summit (named after the meeting between the Soldiers building the road from the North and the South.

After riding this thing, seems like the Soldiers from the South ended up doing more work taking in consideration of miles built.

The road takes me to the other side of the St Elias Mountain range, through some really sketchy construction around the HUGE Kluane Lake in Destruction Bay, through Burwash landing and into my last fuel stop about 30 miles outside of Beaver Creek.

The fuel stop was like a mini reunion, as I roll in and Snidley was there, looking over his bike. Kevin, Mom and Thora roll in as well, greeting me with another hello and this time Mom grabs camera to document our moment. I pump fuel into Kai’s little 5 gallon teardrop belly and walk in to pay.

This elderly couples shop was a complete mess, but in such a way that made ya feel like home and wanna poke around all day in. He tilled out my change, doing calculations from an actual calculator while his wife sat in a lazy boy next to a perfect temp wood stove, watching network news from a little 12 inch. I nose around, checking out his wares for sale. From everything from colorful stones, to arrowheads, to boxes of tea and macaroni and cheese, batteries, a few old spark plugs and a whole shelf of used paperbacks and cd’s. In a glass case in the back corner, I saw a bunch of lighters, a mug or two, and 5 random Nascar Drivers figurines. Fun little dump of a shop.

A shop, that in today’s society, would be snubbed, for its total lack of cleanliness and disarray, but ya know what, Snidley came in saying his spare tire for his camper trailer was coming off and he needed 2 certain size screws to hold er on, and didn’t the old man come from the back with a huge collection of said screws in a huge plastic pickle jar, him and Snidley picking through until he found the ones that will get him where he’s goin’.

Won’t find 2 old screws at your local mini-mart that’s fer sure.

Snidley's fix well under control and email addresses swapped with Kevin, I alone ride the last 40 miles to Beaver Creek. I am still riding cautiously as now I have huge back snapping frost heaves in the road, wildlife to watch for AND getting caught in a passing shower, but I am determined to get to Beaver Creek quickly, cause that puts me ever so close to Alaska.

In fact, I am so determined to make it to Alaska now, that if my front wheel came off in the middle of the ride, I would just take that as a sign to hurry.

The Westmark Inn at Beaver Creek Yukon is where I rest tonight, completely shut off from the world sans a little am/fm black radio, as there is NO internet, NO phone in my room and fuck, NO TV either.

Guess who is gonna be bright and sunshiny for my long awaited meeting tomorrow!

Hope she is feeling the same way.

Peace Grease and Beats