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 10th 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.
