Saturday, June30th, 2007

Over the last month I've seen some really magnificent mountains. Above left, my favorite view of my favorite mountain.

When I got to town I stopped to see the grandkids because they were leaving early in the morning for 10 days of vacation. Rylee thinks 'smile' means grimace. "Grampa, how come your hair is all spiky?" "Old hair dressing called sweat."

Last, I tried to get someone to print me a sign that I could tape above my bumper sticker: "Been".

Aren't those Jesse bags to die for?

Pocatello, Idaho

Hot and dry. Where's all that rain and cool weather from the last time we were near here? Oh, that's right, that was a month ago.

We are headed to Salt Lake this morning to the BMW dealership (Allen can NOT pass one up). We leave at about 6 am Ariz time and it's cool most of the way down. Very good BMW store, Allen is eyeballing riding apparel and Frank is over in a corner fondling a really fine pair of gloves. (Tamara, if Frank tells you that he had no room for souvenirs for you and Madeline it's not true. His bags are stuffed with riding gloves. I think he may have suffered some trauma when he froze his hands on the second day of the trip. If you start getting lots of UPS deliveries, you might want to check and see if Frank is still buying gloves.) Allen and I will take him to rehab if necessary.

At the BMW store a guy comes in and asks if we are the ones riding the BMW's in the front with the "North to Alaska" sign on it and I confirmed that we were. (we were the most beat up looking ones there) He said that he and three friends were going to try the trip next year and had some questions. We went outside and talked about the trip and bike preparation. He was especially intrigued with my hand guards, much to Allen's dismay. I had decided earlier to get our riding group's collective wisdom of things learned from the trip and do a post on Adventure Rider, and will follow up on that.

Our goal for the day was Richfield, Utah which would have been about a 300 mile day. We went through early Saturday morning Salt Lake traffic like poop through a goose and arrived in Nephi early for lunch. Frank rode up and announced "I'm goin home". It was only about 60 miles to Richfield and it didn't make sense to stop so early except for the heat. I told Frank that I would go with him, Allen said go for it and we were off.

Now it should be said that once before in Baja, Mexico Frank had given me a hard time about being like a barn sour horse (A horse that likes the barn so much that once you turn him toward home he's gone and can't be slowed.) We covered about 500 miles that day coming out of Mexico, much of it in the dirt. And yes, my children will verify that I do this (Redding Ca. to Flag in one day) once in awhile (OK fairly often). However, this day belonged to Frank. From Pocatello to Flag is 660 miles and we got here at about 6 pm. The heat, and some wind from Cameron to Flag (where else), beat us up pretty bad and I don't recommend doing this to any one. Yes Mark B, that was me that honked at you as I passed Dominic's as I headed home.

Probably the most dangerous part of the trip happened near the Gap on Hwy 89. Frank and I were in a passing lane to the left and behind a motorhome we were overtaking. As we approached the motorhome's left rear, Frank right behind me, the right side rear tires blew and the motorhome dropped to it's rims on the right side and lurched over to the side of the road. I think he had been running with one of his dual rear tires flat and didn't know it. It over heats the other tire and it's only a matter of time before the good one goes, just like this one did. Frank and I gassed it to get out of the way (any encounter of a bike with a motorhome results in cosmetic damage to the motorhome and catastrophe to the bike). We watched in our mirrors to make sure that the motorhome got stopped safely and then went on, a little more reminded that we are pretty vulnerable and lucky. If it had been the left rear tires that went...let's not think about it.

I must in fairness tell you about the second most dangerous part of the trip. We were coming down the canyon above Kanab and, it being the weekend, there were a lot of bikes out on the road, when along comes a particularly comely and fetching lass heading the other way on a Harley wearing a scandalously revealing spaghetti strapped top. It was truly a dangerous and life threatening situation one that our Motorcycle Code of Conduct required us to turn around and chase her down to remind her to use sun screen. We did not, deciding that sprained necks and drifting over into the oncoming lane as she went by were apt punishment for violating the specific Code provision.

In Kanab at the gas station we ran into a couple of Harley riders from California that were just getting back from a trip to North Carolina where they went to see a bike museum, Wheels Through Time (?) Sounds like a really neat place and one that needs to be on the to do list. Their faces were bright red, as windburned as any people that I've ever seen and they were, shall we say on the "rough" side, not weekend warriors. Really nice guys though, with well worn and ridden bikes. When they saw the sign on the back of my bike and learned where we had been, were truly impressed. They had the harder journey though. Several thousand miles on a Harley without a windshield, that's tough.

We didn't know it but John and Hayne were just ahead of us and completed the trip under their own power. (With a few more oil and filter changes) Except for the pickup haul from Smithers to Calgary, the KTM's completed the trip. We're a little hard on the KTM having a few weak points but we have to remember that BMW has been building the Boxer motor for over 60 years and should have all the bugs worked out, while KTM has only had the 950 out for less than 5 years. KTM really does need to address the water pump, fuel pump and other issues that make an otherwise great bike a bit worrisome to take on a long trip. Still, hat's off to John and Hayne for toughing it out and never giving up. They could have packed it in at several different places, had their bikes shipped, and flown home. They were determined to finish the trip the way that they started it, riding. They get the determination award.

Allen and Carol came in the next day, Sunday so everyone got home safe and sound. A word needs to be said about Allen and the work he went to in getting this trip all set up. He says it was nothing but I know better. Thanks Allen for having a map fetish, a love of motorcycles and travel, and combining them to plan these trips, what a resource you are. I know that you love doing it, but it's still a lot of work. Thanks too for being a good friend with a sense of humor.

Thanks as well to good friends and riding partners Frank, John and Hayne, adventure riders all. Frank, thanks for working on almost everyone's bike at one time or another, and thanks for letting me ride behind you all these years. You help me maintain at least a semblance of reasonable speed, well, most of the time. Besides listening to you cackle when the spirit siezes you is pure entertainment. And thanks too for having patience with a night person. Carol, AKA lady with the wicked finger (no, not what you think), I don't know how you do it. We're all glad that you were there.

This band of adventurers are going to get together in a few weeks and have the rest of the spouses join us to hook up our cameras to a big screen hi-def tv and relive the journey. (If you haven't tried that with your digital camera yet, it's the only way to look at pictures.) I'm sure that the retelling will embellish some, but it won't be necessary. The trip will remain with each one of us as a tremendous adventure, not soon forgotten.

Recognition needs to go to Stephanie Mcarthy for setting up the blog, and her and Kirk Burtch for helping me from long distance with problems I had. Teaching me anything about computers is mission impossible (as Kirk knows well) but they both made a valiant effort. Thanks to you both.

Round trip from Flagstaff to Nogales to Prudhoe Bay was roughly 9,500 miles. I'll have some more accurate figures as well as closing thoughts and impressions on the trip in my next posting and will update some entries as things are recalled both true (Allen and Carol have ridden a motorcycle on six continents, not five), and some not. I have to let the dust settle a bit and get some perspective in order to get all my thoughts down, that and I'm just plane tired, so check back in few days. Heck, there might even be a picture of that albino Manatee polar dipping in the Beaufort Sea part of the Arctic Ocean.

Jeff

Friday June 29th, 2007

We left Missoula early this morning with a realization that our trip is almost over. Frank and I are anxious to get home and see our families. Allen is anxious to get home to get away from Frank and I. (Not really, we've had great fun with him as well as at his expense.) Carol is mixed about it gradually ending. Carol and Allen have already been on the road for over four weeks while Frank and I will have been on the road almost four weeks when we get back. Anyway, more on this later, we're tired but excited to get home.

Also, I failed to mention that on the run around Glacier National Park yesterday Allen really got on his mojo and took off. I don't know how he does it with a WFI (Wife Fault Indicator) on the back. It's hard enough to work your mojo in a serious way when you're alone and your wife's voice is whispering to you to slow down. It must be really hard when she's screaming in you ear and digging her fingernails into your neck. Carol you're a trooper.
We left Missoula on Hwy 93 through the Bitter Root Valley. (There are more direct routes home on the interstate but none of us like the interstate much so we stick to the back roads) It's a pretty valley that winds along a river and was a great ride. Very large forest fire scars part of the valley as is shown in the first picture featuring furiously fast, fast as the very wind itself, Frank.

Up over the Continental Divide and down into the Salmon River valley. This area has lots of history as Lewis and Clark went through this part of Idaho. It's also where the Nez Perce indians went. I stopped and read some of the roadside markers (to which my children would say: "Who are you and what have you done with our father?" OK in the past I was a little focused on the destination rather than the trip.) Fascinating stuff that I hope to come back and see after doing some research.

Down through Salmon (the Salmon River is the picture on the left) on 93 to Challis where we turn southeast on 93 and go over the Willow Creek Summit, elevation 7165 ft. The summit is where I took the last picture of Borah Peak, the highest point in Idaho at 12,655 ft (glad I don't have to do those metric conversions anymore) This also where a trooper suggested that Furiously Fast Frank slow down. You'll notice that the landscape is pretty dry, nothing but grass and sagebrush. This is a very arid part of Idaho and not one of the prettier parts of the state. (That's why so few pictures) Boring ride the last 100 miles into Pocatello for the night. The wind was beating us up pretty bad for this part of the day too.

We had not heard from John and Hayne all day until this evening and it turns out that they were just one step ahead of us all day. They had gotten further south last night than we did so decided to press on to Salt Lake 150 miles down the road today. Frank and I thought about it but in that we would hit Salt Lake during Friday evening traffic on the freeways, decided to just wait until tomorrow, Saturday, to get through Salt Lake.

Had a rather funny incident in Mackay Idaho, a little tiny town on Hwy 93 where we stopped for gas and lunch. When we got there we got gas first and, in that it was noon and getting warm, I took off my coat in the gas station to shed some of the layers underneath. When I laid my coat down my camera must have fallen out of the unzipped pocket onto the floor. I didn't notice it and, after stuffing my sweatshirt into my Jesse bag, got on the bike and road down the street to a small cafe. As we were standing at the counter to order a man walked in and handed me my camera. He said it was on the floor of the gas station and he recognized my "butt". As he handed me the camera I noticed it was turned on and one of the pictures of me walking into the ocean for my polar "bare" plunge was on the screen. He had apparently gone through some of the pictures to try and figure out who the camera belonged to, found a picture of my bike and then me entering the ocean 'au natural', then went out and saw the bike on the street and me in the restaurant. When he said he recognized my butt I'm sure he was joking, I think. Moral of the story, keep your coat zipper zipped so your bare facts are not revealed. Need to remember to delete those pictures.

Thursday, June 28th,2007

Left Calgary and headed south today on Hwy 2. South of Calgary is flat to rolling prairie for mile after mile after mile. Very green, but boring. Thank goodness the wind wasn't blowing. The last time I was on this road 15 years ago it was blowing so hard you couldn't stay on the road. Excellent area for some wind farms, which I saw off in the distance. If it's going to blow anyway, they might as well do something with it, eh? I've been here too long.
We crossed over the border at Carway without incident and headed down to St. Mary to take the east entrance to go through Glacier National Park. Well, mother nature said no. They had a landslide in the Park and were repairing the road so we could not go through. Instead we took Hwy 89 south, and 2 around the bottom and up the west side of the park. The road was motorcycle terrain all the way, tight twisty and fun. Pine forest and scrub oak with a couple of pretty good sized forest fires thrown in.
Near Kalispell we called John and Hayne because we had not heard from them all day. They had left a message on Allen's phone that they had spent the night in Kalispell and Hayne's bike was running well so they would push on today. That puts them almost a day ahead of us which is good because it gives them time to get repairs in Missoula if they need them.
We take Hwy 35 down the eastern side of Flat Head Lake which is really a pretty good sized lake. Mostly Farm and ranch land all the way to Missoula. It's very very hot and we're stripping clothes off as fast as we can. Just as we arrive in Missoula it starts to rain and cool things off. As Frank so sagely says: "It's all a matter of timing".
A few days ago we ran into a motorcyclist who said he talked to one of the Harley riders who was on the Harley ride to Prudhoe Bay. The Harley guy said that the trip turned into a fiasco. The guy talking to us was a little vague so I called up to Prudhoe Bay and talked to the security guy who had given us the tour and he verified that one rider was medivaced out with a broken wrist (one had been hospitalized before we met them at the Yukon gas stop) a total of 17 Harleys were made inoperable, 6 being taken to Prudhoe Bay, tied to pallets and hauled out, and the rest being taken out by their own chase vehicles. Never could get a firm figure on how many made it in and out on their own power. Really too bad because they were doing this as a charity run and had good intentions. Wonder if anyone in Georgia will have a fund raiser for these guys to help defray the costs of the trip.
Because this day was pretty uneventful I would like to take this opportunity to have some fair and balanced blogging. I've had great fun at Allen's expense (he provides a target rich environment). Out of fairness to Allen I must confess my own faux pas. It starts with my decision to leave my electric vest at home so I would have room for the computer. BIG mistake, which was rectified in Spokane with a new vest. It's amazing what you can cram into a bag when you are truly motivated. Having to replace the tire in Prince George was only partly my fault in that one of my reasons for going down to Nogales was to stop in at Iron Horse BMW and get their opinion on the mileage left in the tire. They thought it would make it to Anchorage as well, so 50% mine. ( You should always have new rubber for a trip like this especially on Canadian roads). One Allen doesn't even know about but out of candor must be revealed is that you should not go to the motel desk and complain that their wireless Internet service does not work unless you have put the wireless card into the computer first. Oh and then there was the gas can incident coming out of Coldfoot. You see, I had carried the empty gas can from Anchorage to Coldfoot, probably 500 miles, with one fourway bungee cord. Well, in Coldfoot we filled the cans because this was the leg that I couldn't make without more gas. I soon discovered that a full gas can needs more than one fourway bungee cord to hold it. I am so keyed up about this last leg of the trip north and excited about the perfect conditions of the dirt that I'm not really paying much attention to details. As I take off from Coldfoot, John chases me down and points out that my gas can is not where it is supposed to be. I turn around and sure enough it's not on the rear rack so I assume that it fell off and go back looking for it. About two miles back to Coldfoot is covered quickly and no gas can. I'm assuming that when it fell off it must have rolled into the bushes along the side of the road and slowly work my way back looking on the side of the road for the can. When I get to where everyone is waiting for me scratching their heads wondering what I'm doing, they begin pointing to the rear of my bike. I finally see that the full gas can is dangling behind my bike held up by the bungee cord looking for all the world like a modernistic red dingleberry attached to the back of a German transformer. Well, that was my impression anyway. An embarrassing few minutes is spent rectifying my bad judgement while my friends have great fun at my expense. Ok, so there you have it, fair and balanced reporting.

June 26,2007

I have over-used my descriptive terms on this trip because I have seen so much that is truly impressive and would test any one's descriptive abilities. Today, however was really special. We left Mcbride and started down to Banff and if this route doesn't knock your socks off, you can't see. First stop (the picture on top belongs at the end and I don't know how it got there?) . The next picture is called Robson Peak before you get to Jasper. If you can, blow these pictures up to full screen because these little pictures can't do it justice. The picture just above is on the road to Lake Louise.

These pictures show the glaciers, ice fields and rivers that result from them.

Note the snow on top of the mountain picture above.

Sorry about the one above on left, I can't figure out how to turn it around. The one above is of waterfalls that are all along the road.

The picture on the left is Lake Louise, one of the most stunning bodies of water anywhere. You just stand there and say wow. The guy below didn't play "Richola", but he really did know how to play this thing. Several moving songs, had a very deep and nice tone to it.

The picture below (now on top) is the Lake Louise Lodge, a historic lodge built by the railroad in early days and rebuilt several times. Really a special (expensive) place. You owe it to yourself to try and see this area at least once in your life. This is my second time and it still wows me.

We left Lake Louise and went to Calgary for the night. It's a very large city with all kinds of big city problems. It is impressive to see the downhill jump venues and the bobsled facility from the winter Olympics when you drive into town.

Tomorrow,Wednesday, we have new tires and as it turns out rear brakes put on the bikes. Brakes? Who in this group ever uses their brakes? Seriously, nobody went warp six with their hair on fire today. It was a day of soaking it all in.

Wednesday, June 26, 2007

We found out later that John and Hayne had driven most of the night, slept in the truck and arrived in Calgary Tuesday morning and have been working on their bikes. John's son went on the Internet, found a fix from a fellow adventure rider for the fuel pump problem, called John and he fixed it in the parking lot of the KTM dealer. The dealer didn't have the KTM parts nor did anyone else in Canada, so an American Carter fuel pump was pressed into service and according to John works great. Hayne had his oil changed (no parts to fix the water pump) and they left Wednesday afternoon to get an early start towards a dealer in Missoula that we hope has the parts to fix Hayne's bike. Today, Wednesday we hung around the bike shop waiting for the tires to get changed and then back to the motel for laundry, working on catching up on the blog and repacking for the next leg to Glacier.

Here it is again, Chateau Lake Louise. Sometimes you can't find the pictures, and sometimes they are everywhere.

June 25th, 2005

By popular demand of a multitude (well, no one really but to pull Allen's chain and the fact that no one took any pictures today) I am featuring more detailed pictures of my "Mad Max Meets Bavaria" industrial strength home made (clearly) but incredibly effective hand grips. Please note the clean but purposeful lines, the economy of design, the manly substance of the materials and most of all, the dead bugs, proof of their efficiency and need. Why, I don't know ANY self respecting adventure rider that wouldn't be button popping proud to have a set of these on his or her bike. Proof positive that the person with these guards is no poseur'. I may not have a microwave, refridgerator or a Dali print on my bike, I do have "killer" handguards. Allen, envy is a poison, I'll make you a set when we get home.

Today we head to the southeast on the way to the crossroad of our trip in Canada, Prince George. In Canada we are doing sort of a crazy eight pattern. Going up we crossed the border at Cascade and went up the west side of the lower part of the eight to Prince George, where I got my new tire, and then headed northeast up to Chetwin, then on to the Alcan and headed north west to Watson Lake and beyond. Coming back, we came down the Cassiar Hwy on the top left side of the figure eight and are today headed through Prince George to then start the eastern side of the bottom of the eight. (Clear as mud huh.)

Before we left we met the owner of our motel in Burns Lake, Kim Tran, who is Vietnamese and has a facinating story. He wasn't able to get out of Vietnam before the closure and so built his own boat and took off. He suffered incredible abuse and threats from pirates and various countries in S.E. Asia before he was allowed to immigrate to Canada. He now owns two motels, a restaurant and is building another motel in Smithers. He has sponsored over 100 family members to come to Canada, most of whom live in Vancouver. Just a great story and fine individual, one of the reasons that traveling is fun. It gets you out of your rut and you meet new people, most of whom have interesting stories.

We left Burns Lake and went to Prince George ahead of John and Hayne to check out the shops there for parts and help. All the dealers were closed as it was Monday but a peek inside the windows of the KTM dealer showed no 950's so we called John and so advised them that they needed to concentrate on Calgary. It was about noon and they had just rented a truck in Smithers, loaded the bikes and were headed towards us.

When we got gas in Prince George Allen noticed that he had stiky stuff all over his coat and pants. It was like someone had thrown syrup on him, and those of you that know Allen can guess how happy he was. He complained subtely, (ranted) and was really quite the mess. When we went to a NAPA dealer to get some parts he used their bathroom to wash himself and his coat, and now there is a warrant (local, not out of jurisdiction) for him for abuse of restroom facilities. (It's a Canadian thing ;>) Later he figured out that he had some cough drops in the pocket of his coat and while at the car wash in Burns Lake asked me to spray the mud off of him and his coat. The coat pocket was open and there's your syrup. As we left town he had to stop a couple of times to re-rout the cords to his microwave, big screen tv and hot tub that he has on his bike which put him in an even better mood. Frank and I were following and the sight of Allen flailing around all wound up like an over-caffeinated Robin Williams, was so funny we almost fell off our bikes. Tears were streaming down our faces we laughed so hard. (Allen it really will be funny for you,...... someday.)

We had planned to go to Jasper this night but they were all full so we stayed in Mcbride, about 350 mile day. Mcbride is a little railroad community that sits in a very pretty valley flanked on both sides by some very substantial mtns.

The picture above is the one that disappeared from yesterdays post and is for Anthony, as I know that he can't get enough of them. Didn't take any pictures today. Rolling hills, lots of green, and yep, more trees.

I want to mention here that the bags on my bike are Jesse bags and I can't say enough about how good they are. Good looking, solid and tough as nails. These are prototypes (yes, I did pay for them, and this is not an advertisement) and Al, the only suggestion I would make is to brighten up the logo some. I had a bike almost run into me trying to see what kind they are. Lots of really positive feedback. Thanks for pushing to get them done in time for this trip.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

The day started out overcast and threatening in more ways than one. These two pictures show Frank's and my bikes after the Cassiar mud got to them. A sign that we had a really good time.

John and Hayne decided to leave a little early to try and avoid some of the rain. After much cogitation we think John's fuel pump is not working that well because of all the rain. (It's under the engine, just above the bash plate, perfect place to put an electric motor) So they took off while we had breakfast and about an hour later we followed down Hwy 37. Overcast, but we could at least we could see the mountains and the road was really good for motorcycles. About 60 miles down the road, there they are, John's bike stopped.
We got the bike to a rest stop and started over. Frank and John took the fuel pump apart and it was a mess, water and corrosion. They cleaned it all up and before we got going again the boom truck guy (who will remain nameless because we are not sure if his employer would approve of him helping us) comes up and joins us (he's heading in the same direction to his home). He waits to see if we get it running again and when we do he said he'll follow us as far as he goes. Sure enough a few miles down the road it stops again. We decide that it is beyond our tools and skill and agree with the boom truck driver to have him haul John to the junction at Kitwanga where he goes a different direction.




And so it is done again, KTM in the truck.

The rest of us head on down to the junction where we meet another kind Canadian, is there any other kind, who is hauling his broken Kawasaki touring cruiser back to Smithers, the direction we are heading. The pictures to the left and below are the same (oops), they are an old church (and ?, don't know what that thing on the right is) near the junction of 37 and hwy 16 at Kitwanga. It's all wood, very intricate and old.

At the junction the boom truck arrives and off loads the KTM, (picture just disappeared of the KTM getting offloaded, see above for the general idea. Where do these things go when they go away like that?)

So that we can load it in a Harley Davidson trailer. Oh the shame.

The plan at this point is for Hayne to follow John and his bike to Smithers, and tomorrow to rent a truck to take both bikes to Calgary where there is a KTM dealer that can fix them both. We're just not sure how much longer Hayne's bike will survive the constant dilution of the oil with water even though he is changing it daily. Ddin't really want to split off like that but there really isn't anything we can do for them or they for us at this point.
We are also heading to Calgary to get tire changes so we will meet them there. The day is still young so we head on down the road to Burns Lake and crash after we wash off the bikes. I had planned to go all the way to Flagstaff with the Arctic and Cassair mud on my bike just so it looked like the travels it has made. However, the stuff that they put on the haul road to control dust, and what makes it so slick when wet, is very corrosive so we washed them in Fairbanks, and I got tired of getting everything filthy when I go near it, so off came the the Cassiar mud in Burns Lake.

The drive down hwy 16 is beautiful. Lot's of small towns and green fields, rolling hills bordered by high mountains. Canada should change their colors from red and white to green and white.
Of course in the winter it is grey and white. Did not get rained on today. Any more, it really doesn't matter.

Saturday, June 23rd, 2007

Today we head back up the Alcan about 10 miles to the the northern end of the Cassiar Hwy. We've heard the usual horror and heaven stories about this road. Long stretches of what was once dirt are now mud and construction so bad you want to turn around, but spectacular. After Prudhoe Bay we are fearless and intrepid explorers and we laugh in the face of adversity, Hah!

Well it starts to rain on us almost immediately so we stop and put on our rain gear. It gets colder and colder and colder. Mother nature detests arrogance. We pull into a small market literally out in the middle of nowhere for gas around noon very wet and dirty from lots and lots of mud. There is no restaurant so we all scrounge a meal at a grocery deli. Chicken bits and chicken things, umm umm good. While gassing up we see a truck pulling a travel trailer come in for gas. We all noticed that the right rear tire of the trailer has shredded and almost come off the rim. Thinking that the driver might not realize it, we told him. Sure enough, he did not know it. When they get out of the truck Frank recognizes one of the passengers as someone he knows from Flag. Sure enough they are from Flag, heading up to Alaska to do some fishing. What are the odds?

After our gourmet meal of chicken parts, we hit the trail with about 150 more miles of constant rain. The clouds were low on the mountains but we would get an occasional glimpse and as John said: "It was the prettiest ride I never did see." Except for the mud and the constant rain it was a really great ride. No, I take that back, it was a great ride even with the mud and rain. The forest here is made up of much bigger trees than we saw further north. Beautiful tall trees and water every where, the rivers are swollen with spring runoff from record snow fall. What a sight, just wish we could have seen the mountains. What we did see were covered with snow.

We were about 16 miles from our nights lodging when John's KTM just quit running. Frank (our resident mechanic) helped John get his bike to a clearing beside the road where we all took stock. Before we even got our helmets off they hit us hard, waves of them in perfect formation in a coordinated sneak attack, such perfidy, never have so many feasted on so few. The attack caught us completely by surprise and made us all look like bad spellers trying to dance to the Village People singing 'YMCA'. Millions nay billions of mosquitoes and biting flies hungry for our blood and our good humor came at us with the fierce determination. Frank shouted those immortal fighting words: "Let's get the heck out of here". We very quickly decided that there was no way to push or tow John 16 miles so we pushed his bike away from the road to then go to our lodging to seek reinforcements and help. Before we left I suggested that we better chain the bike to a tree. Allen said what for there's no one around, to which I replied, the mosquitoes might carry it off. John said let em have it if they want it and he jumped on the back of Haynes

bike and we beat a hasty retreat.

As we travelled to Bell Vue II where we were staying I saw the above mountain briefly and thought what a great shot. I stopped beside the highway, took out my camera and was ambushed again. I barely got the shot off before they tried to take me away. It was only my prodigious clothing that saved me! Seriously, it's almost enough to cause a panic attack when under such an onslaught.

When at the lodge our good fortune was at hand. A worker for a local (200 miles away) utility was staying there and asked if he could help, and did he ever have a truck. Frank and I followed him and John back to the killing fields where he picked up John's bike and loaded it into the back of his boom truck. Of course we had to take pictures. Someone said to tell Anthony, this is a new KTM rescue vehicle. By the time we got the bike unloaded at Bell Vue, it ran. We thought that maybe he got some bad gas and decided that with the limited facilities there, (it was just a heli-skiing lodge and gas several hundred miles from anywhere else) we had better see how far south to better facilities we could get the next morning. Meanwhile, Hayne is getting very good at changing his oil each evening.

For those that are not familiar with Bell Vue, I took a couple of pictures of some unique meeting rooms, note the sod roof. Very very nice and expensive, too bad it's so far away. It continued to rain and so ended the day. We are averaging about 300-350 miles per day now and slowly heading south.

Friday June 22, 2007

A

Brief update, for the record. When one of us has one of those seizures (ego takes over the throttle hand) we call it : "gettin' your mojo on." As we left Delta Junction the other day I rode the rear most of the day. When asked why, especially because we were in the dirt on part of the road to Dawson City and that is a temptation almost more than I can bear, my response was that I was paying penance for my sins on the Dalton Hwy the last few days. It should be known that I am not the only sinner among us. John has sinned regularly, and mister Frank "I go slow because it's the right thing to do" Mayorga 'got his mojo on' on a portion of the road to Dawson City road and flat out flailed it. I have ridden with Mister "always ride in the back with his under powered headlight meekly peeking out" Mayorga for many years and I knew it was only a matter of time before the temptation to sin would be too great. On this day it happened and it happened in flagrant technicolor with all its moral implications. We all witnessed an underpowered, inadequately braked old Beemer singing in compelling harmony to the muse of speed and it was inspired. He was fast as the very wind. Sorry, I digress.
Today we left Whitehorse to go back down the Alcan to Watson Lake. Things did not start out well because we left Hayne behind. Being the resourceful person he is (and he has GPS) he quickly caught up with us.
As we are tooling down the Alcan, John is in front of me and sees a big black bear start out from the woods toward a quick road crossing. The bear sees John and turns around and goes back into the woods. Once John is past (about a quarter of a mile separates us) he decides to try again and runs right in front of me. I never saw anything that big move so fast. Before I realized what it was, he was in front of me. I clamped on all the brakes I could and he made it safely across. Frank was right behind me and saw it all. Sadly this bear was faster than Frank and his camera so no pictures. It's true, don't ever run from a bear, can they move.

Later we're motoring down the highway when I noticed that my clutch was slipping, not a good sign at all. We all pulled over and discovered that Hayne's KTM was also acting up (water pump, uh oh). My problem was soon fixed by that master of diagnosis and mechanical wizard Allen Naille, as my left side hand protector having slipped down and stopping the clutch handle from fully releasing. (He worked on the right side brake handle for a minute before I reminded him that the clutch was on the left, but hats off to him for remembering reading about this problem somewhere) What a relief. Of course he wants to blame it on my "Mad Max meets Bavaria" supplemental hand protectors and candidly they might have helped move the hand protector down, but of course I must deny that to avoid giving him the satisfaction. They are staying put till the end of the trip because they work so well, and I'll just keep checking them.
Hayne's problem could be much more serious. We are probably a thousand miles maybe more from any parts that can fix his leaking water pump. What happens is that the water pump seal leaks water into the oil and collapses the oil filter then you lose oil pressure and the motor destroys itself.
After much thought and a seance, we decided that the options were limited. With no help at hand we took out the oil filter (well the real mechanic, Frank did) drained the oil and pressed on to Watson Lake. Yep, it's still a creepy place but we had no other options on places to stay because tomorrow we go down the Cassiar Hwy (Hwy 37) and need to be near the junction which is just outside Watson Lake. That night we decided that the only thing that we can do is keep changing the oil as it dilutes and hope that we can come to a KTM dealer that has the parts and can fix it. If the motor goes away, well we went as far as we could and we'll deal with that when it happens. With John's earlier problem with his starter "scabbing over" we are hopeful.
Pictures above are of the Forest of signs on Watson Lake, famous but why? And the first pit stop, on Hayne's bike and mine.

Friday, June 22, 2007

An update from yesterday, These are some pictures that Frank took. Above left is our only accident so far, Haynes bike fell over at the gas pump in Chicken. Embarassing but no damage. The picture above is a river we crossed on our way to Dawson before the road turned to dirt. The snow shows how far north we are. The picture on the left Frank took right after we crossed the Alaska/Canadian border. I was in front of him and never even saw the bear. Fast Frank is ever ready on the camera.

June 19th, 20th and 21st

Sorry, out of sequence. Above left, the border looking into Alaska. Above, Delta River.

The end/beginning of the Dalton Highway. The picture on the left is my bike under a sign at the start of the Dalton Hwy. It's caption should read: "Oh so now you tell me."

The picture on the left is Allen and Carol.

The pavement only goes a few more feet and then turns to dirt.

Finally got to a place with reliable internet and don't know when I'll get it again so I'm going to combine some days. The 19th we left Coldfoot headed the same way out towards Fairbanks that we had come in on, the Dalton Highway. Another very fast run with a couple of seizures. When we stopped at the Yukon River (about half way) for gas we ran into about 40 police and retired police from Georgia that were headed to Prudhoe Bay on HARLEYS. There purpose was to start from Prudhoe Bay and go all the way to Key West in Florida on a charity run. They were all decked put in their do-rags and leather vests but nary a heavy coat among them. We talked to the guy running the support truck and he said that all the people at the Harley dealership in Anchorage had told them that they were crazy and NOT to take Harleys up the Dalton. Not only were their bikes not the right bikes, they were ill prepared to make the effort. What we took two days to do (500 miles of about 70% dirt one way) they were going to try in one. They had already had one misshap with injuries and damage to a bike and had barely ridden the dirt portion and none of the difficult part. For as over-worried we were, they were sublimely oblivious. When we saw them it was almost noon and they weren't even 25% there. We tried to counsel them but I'm not sure that there is a more stubborn lot than policemen. I'm going to try and follow up and see how they did.

The rest of the trip south was pretty uneventful. The picture above is of my bike near a sign at the start of the Dalton Hwy. Zoom in to read the sign.

Hayne needed to stop in Fairbanks to get some repairs to his fork seals and then he, Frank and John caught up with Allen, Carol and I in Delta Jct, south of Fairbanks, where we spent the night. Scenery is the same trees, trees and more trees. Never thought that I would get tired of trees, but it's a little like driving through Kansas and seeing corn. After awhile it all looks the same. The picture above is of the Delta river which apperantly floods quite regularly.

June 20th

We drove down Hwy 2 to Tetlin and turned north on Hwy 5 (turns to 9 in Canada), also called the Top of the World Highway, headed to Dawson City, the center of the Alaskan gold rush in the 1890's. As we drove along this road we started seeing sign of a recent forest fire. Mile after mile it went, as far as you could see everything was burnt clear to the ground. It was one of the most incredible sights that I have ever seen. The road to Dawson is about 50% dirt and it took awhile to cover miles because of all the RV traffic so I'm sure it seemed to take longer to traverse the fire area than normal but the size of it was staggering. When we stopped in a little gas stop on the way called Chicken, they told us that this fire was 1.3 million acres(several lightning fires all converged), and that the year of the fire (2004) Alaska had over 3 million acres burn. It is truly hard to comprehend a burn that large. The sad part is that this area is pretty dry and it will take many generations to come back. The picture above of the hills is the border station with Canada and as far as you can see past the border station it is burned forest. Apperantly, unless a fire is close to a home or structure, they just let it burn and only fight it with air tankers.

When we descended to the town of Dawson City the road ran into the Yukon River. No Bridge. Remember me talking about the Yukon River and how big it is? At Dawson it is still huge and the cost to build a bridge is just too great so they use a ferry. Kinda neat.

We spent the night in Dawson and did some shopping. Imagine Tombstone married to Jerome and made bigger and you get the idea. A lot of history about the gold rush is here. The one most misunderstood is that the Alaska gold rush was really in Canada. Dawson City, where most of the gold was mined is quite a ways into Canada. The best way to get there then was to take the paddle wheeler boats up the Yukon River, which crosses the entire width of Alaska, and there were 30 such boats running the river in it's two year heyday.

June 21st (Thursday I think)

We leave Dawson City headed down Hwy 9 toward Whitehorse. More road construction and yes more gravel. After the dust choking that we took yesterday getting to Dawson City we are ready for the dust to be over for awhile. Voila! it rains on us as we arrive in Whitehorse. Frank and I have hit the two week wall. Fatigue is setting in. We are both drowsy and very sore. Never thought that I could fall asleep riding a motorcycle but could have today. We've been doing roughly 300 mile days the last few days so it's not the mileage, just a lot of time on a bike wears you down.

June 18th, 2007

June 18th, 2007

June 17th, part deux

Ok, let's try to get these pictures right. Above is the luxury lodge at Coldfoot. That does look like a $150 room, right. It was worth every penny. Yep, that is osb board for a wall.

T
On the left above, this is where the pipeline goes over permafrost. The fins on top of each leg have a brine solution in them that circulates underground and keeps the permafrost frozen.

On the right are some mtn sheep that live in the Atigan pass.

To the left is a shot of the Brooks Range from the north looking south. From here it's about 125 miles of essentially flat tundra to the ocean. It gradually gets less and less green until the plants are almost a grey/tan. No trees or bushes. This is where the muskox also live.

These are reindeer (for my grandkids, and caribou for everyone else) Their numbers have doubled since the pipeline went in.

Ok, you tell me, what on earth does this thing haul. A specialized piece of equipment, like the one below. Check out the tires on the one below. It moves rigs over snow and ice. Winter is when they get most things done because they can move over the tundra. These two photos are by Frank

To the left you can see the derricks in the distance. They aren't nearly as big as I thought that they would be.

These are the survivors at the ocean. From the left: Hayne Ellis, Allen Naille, John Graves, myself and Frank Mayorga. You can see the ice in the ocean just above our shoulders.