“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.
Peace Grease and Beats.
