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 4th, 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
