Early Days

(Picture: Bruce, a friend, and Dino) About a year ago, I decided it was time to make the attempt, again, to ride across the Arctic Circle.  For me, it was a nagging desire that had festered for almost 20 years.  I wanted, for no good reason, to take my bike over the Arctic Circle.  In my younger days, I had located a route in Norway to Nord Cap, that was inside the Arctic and presented the additional adventure of a European tour.  In other words, in addition to the thrill of not speaking the language, there might be food, lodging and gas along the route as it was a well travel vacation destination.  How well traveled became obvious when my group arrived in Trondheim to find bumper to bumper travel trailers, station wagons, buses and all manner of vehicles slowly making their way to Nord Cap and the certificate that they had visited the North Pole, an optimistic claim but all in fun.  An effort casting caution to the wind and taking every opportunity to lane split, pass on the right, left, on curves and over hills, netted, after a hard days ride, 45 miles and found us in Hell, which, we learned, does freeze over every winter, while also learning that July is the wrong month to plan a visit to Nord Cap.  All of Europe is on vacation in July and many shared my dream. I began to look for alternatives.  Some, I'm sure, exist in Russia.  But, Russia had denied me entrance several times and despite the fall of The Wall, I held lingering doubts that entrance, although now, perhaps, possible, may not be safe and successful.  China was, and probably still is, closed, as well.  That left a review of Canada highways. And, it was there, in my back yard, so to speak, that I found a thin red line that ran from near Dawson City, in the Yukon, to a town called Inuvik within the Northwest Territories and 250 miles inside the Arctic Circle.  Someday, I thought, I'd convince the group to go.  That proved difficult as 5000 miles of not very much lay between here and the beginning of the adventure proper.  Last year knowing that my health and resolve were failing, I determined to go alone, if need be.  But, the need did not be and a solid rider, Bruce, several years my senior, but and extremely experienced rider, agreed to join me provided we include Alaska in the itinerary.  No problem.  Although, I'd like this to be the beginning of many Last Great Adventures, I can't count on returning to the Canadian Northwest and finding myself within striking distance of Alaska again.  It was, therefore, an easy and exciting addition to the itinerary and an opportunity to have another rider along just in case.  So, it became Bruce and Dino's Last Great Adventure!  Two old guys on their Goldwings wondering if they could beat nature, errant drivers, and the highway crews one more time. Our departure date is set for May 24th as the final leg into Inuvik is an Ice Road and closed for the month of May since the ice is not strong enough to carry traffic but too thick to permit ferries to operate where needed. The road usually opens for regular traffic on June 1st but has been known to be closed until June 16th. We'll see. Although three routes were debated, in the end, we decided on hugging the border, primarily on Route 2, to Shelby, MT and then striking north. This decision was arrived at based on an assessment of views, poor regardless, and value, stateside is much cheaper for gas and lodgings. For the technically minded the bikes are GL1800s, Bruce's yellow 2001, with just over 100,000 miles logged, and my silver 2002, with just about 50,000 miles logged.  Both have back rests, heated grips, Lowrance iWay 500c GPS navigation, CB communications, and Darkside (car) rear tires.  We will carry The Spot, which is, basically, a global positioning "I've fallen and I can't get up" emergency device coupled with a "We're fine and here (lat & long coordinates provided)” message generator linked to a list of e-mail addresses set pre-departure.  Since temperatures will be low at our destination and warm in between, we'll pack full riding gear with liners, long pants, shorts and several top layers. This means we can travel light while still maintaining the flexibility to deal with all conditions.  We have both been doing long hauls for a long time and I'm not worried that we will be unprepared.  That is not to say we will be successful.

Day 24 - Home

Home. June 16, 2010, 9:30 PM. Over 14 hours in the saddle today but, only about 722 miles. The East is crowded and there are lots of needlessly slow roads. Oppression on the highways is everywhere. It is a unique phenomenon.

Absent Bruce's wheel bearing difficulties, which could be expected with over 100,000 miles on his bike before we began, there have been no mishaps. But, also as expected, a grueling ride to a place I wanted to go just to say I had. Last year I threatened to go alone if need be. Bruce stepped up and offered to join me. Looking back at my concerns and mindset before leaving, I doubt I would have gone without him. Many thinks for his willingness to join a foolhardy expedition.

My odometer shows I traveled 12,991 miles. Less than expected. It cost less and did not take as long, even with the added side trips to Yellowstone and Devil's Tower. The weather conditions where unexpected. The temperature variation was the surprise. We went from a day at 92F to several days at 36-38F. Rain is always expected but the snow and hail caught us by surprise. Also a surprise was the sheer size of things. The plains are huge. The mountains are huge. The distances are long.

We covered over 750 miles of dirt. Most of it pretty good dirt when compared to other wilderness adventures we have enjoyed. But, the Goldwing is not built for dirt and it's work to sling a 900 pound (plus) two wheeler around switchbacks and s-curves with guard rails, when they existed, just high enough to act as kickers to catapult the hapless rider into big space and a hard landing often between 3000 to 9000 feet below. Who knew such places existed?

Of note, we "rode" The Dempster Highway, we "did" The Top of the World Highway, we "drove" the The Alaska Highway and the Klondike Highway. We visited Jasper, Banff and Yellowstone Parks plus a hundred smaller national and state/provincial parks/forests. We met, without exception - well there was the proprietress at Chicken, Alaska - good and interesting people including the owner of Turple Honda, Glenn Turple, in Red Dear near Calgary, who showed us all the racing awards won by his departed brother and business partner, Rex, plus his pictures of the dealership he and his brother started in 1946 in the family barn. His shop is huge, he carries almost everything, and he has many pictures and memories that he loves to share. At 82, he rides to work every day on either a trike, which he was riding the snowy day we were there but, the snow does not stop him from taking the two wheeler we were told, a Goldwing. Young and old women even flirted with us sometimes; out of habit if not out of interest but, I'm grateful for anything I can get these days. Often, we'd just sit down at a gas stop and talk to whomever was there. Learn things and teach things. We crossed the north/south continental divide at least twice but, perhaps, more. It's, not marked that much. We crossed the east/west continental divide at least 8 times but that's only marked in Yellowstone or, sometimes, by 'The Divide Diner".

Although we saw the occasional "rice burner" sport bike, on the black top, the selection was limited almost exclusively to Harley's, either Electra or Road Glides (mostly rentals, I think from Alberta), Goldwings, and the sporadic, over prepared and heavily laden BMW off road. We saw many retirees bicycling singly, in couples and in moderate to large groups. Often they we blue in the face but determined to go where Bruce and I went only with trepidation on our motorized vehicles. I was humbled and felt a certain shame for having taken the easy way out. A bicycle doesn't fit a knee bend that works for me; the "stride" is too short. Walking would be easier for me and we saw a few of those ... but, not many. One sinewy old fellow was pushing a two seater stroller, one of those with the zippered front entry with clear plastic so the kids can see out, packed with gear. He was in the Yukon headed to Alaska. We saw him twice both coming and going.

There was not the wildlife I expected but, we saw black and grizzly bears - highlighted by the black that took a fancy to Bruce - elk, antelope, bison, huge ravens, vultures, big horn sheep, mountain goats, moose, marmots, some raccoon sized creature with a "golden", foot wide ring around its torso that I haven't identified, wolves, deer, golden and bald eagles, black squirrels and other forest and plains rodents, a black bird with a white ring around each wing and white in its tail when it flew - very pretty, huge flocks of doves, small ones of pigeons, cows - lots and lots of cows - and horses, lots of horses, mostly, quarter but some thoroughbred, and a few light work horses. And, pigs, a few pigs. Of course, the occasional dog and cat.

And, yes, we saw a movie being filmed starring Steve Martin, Jack Black and some pretty thing. It's a comedy, with bird watching in the wilds of Alaska as a vehicle, being filmed in the Yukon on The Dempster because the sun never sets, there is nobody there and Dawson City is only 40 miles away.

There were bugs on the windshield, black flies and butterflies, but I was bitten only twice. I'd credit Bruce's timing for that but I'd also credit his timing for the snow, hail, and my frozen fingers. Sometime they would remain white for hours after we had secured our room and the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers of my right hand are still numb at the tips. Regardless, on the whole, the weather was clear, dry and sunny and that is certainly the case for every critical destination point we set and visited. That is consistent with Bruce's input, as well.

Three of the most challenging roads I've encountered on a heavy bike were met on this trip: The Dempster, at least to the circle (a real workout) - extra points for reaching Inuvik in the first days of the spring open - even the BMW off roads couldn't make that; The Top of the World Highway (scary but ho! god ...), Route 97 along the Alaska Highway from Tetsa Lake to Fireside (gorgeous and challenging; full of wildlife) and Route 14 through the Big Horn Mountains (Expert level and terrifying). The fourth, and most difficult, would be the haul road in The Labrador. All four road should be on every adventure bikers list and should be accomplished at maximum drive and machine capability. I tried to do that. Of all the beautiful, breathtaking rides, the trip through Jasper and Banff was, perhaps, the most impressive. And, a stop at Radium Hot Springs should be on the list - we didn't stop.

A beautiful, really fun run on a well domesticated road is from Anchorage to Homer in Alaska. It's the weekend jaunt for the Anchorage riders. Off-season, it's very affordable; in-season, it's The Cape.

I often road with the helmet shield open to smell the air. Some places, like the poplar and birch forests, were so sweet. Other places were just crisp fresh air. The fresh air of the true wilderness is an intoxicant. East of Chicago, even on a good day, the air is tainted. I notice and miss that much more that I expected.

Room rates ranged from $151 to $53 for essentially the same quality of 2 bed accommodations. We stayed at Super 8 motels often. After 10-14 hours a day, they were easy to see and we knew what to expect. That goes a long way in the decision making process.

And, finally, for Goldwing riders in Alaska with mechanical trouble, Jerry Russel, in Soldatna, is the only man to see. He has more parts than the dealer and years more experience. He's 79 years old and his very good.

The End.

Day 23

We cruise. 760 miles. Mostly through spring fields of corn and wheat, huge cattle ranches, and the occasional town. I-90 misses most of the towns but I remember the names fro,m years ago. My mom and the kids must have travelled much of the same route I follow now only then it was on Route 14, portions of which still exist and portions are merged with I-90 and marked - I-90/US 14. It brings back such fond memories. It is a reward I did not expect.

Today we saw three dead deer, the Sears Building, The John Hancock Tower (impressive), two Cyrstler factories - with people actually working at them!! - the Hormel Chili plant, and, my favorite, the Hormel Spam plant.

The disappointing things is that for the most part we are the only people on the roads. There are a few trucks but, here, in the rust belt, I'd have expected more. Nothing like Toronto. We were through Chicago and surrounds in 45 minutes. There were two slowdowns and no stops. That, with parts of the road under construction. "Drivers", as they now call themselves, are getting 2100 miles a week in jobs. Not enough to live on in that business. Go too, by the way, is the colorful CB lingo of the past. People call each other by there name and say what they want. A typical conversation might be, "Anybody going west? "Yes". "How,s it look back there?" "There's a patrol (sometimes they still say "bear" but a trucker ... oops, sorry, driver had to ask me where the word came from!!!) at 44 and 155."" Thank you driver." "I just got on so I can't help you. Have a save trip." "You, too." Times cxhange.

We should be home tomorrow. The end of The Last Great Adventure. A whimper, not a bang.

Day 22

We are now on the return leg. To spice things up this morning, despite cloudy skies, light rain, and the early hour, we detour to Devil's Tower. Movie fans will remember it as the location of the final scenes from “Strange Encounters of the Third Kind”. The Devil's Tower was America's first National Monument. It was created by Teddy Roosevelt. Was it a good precident to set? Who knows.

The Devil's Tower is the remains of an ancient volcano. The hole that ran up the middle and spewed lava and destruction around the area. Oddly, the molten lava in the core of the volcanic cone, hardened and was much harder than the cone itself. Over the millennia, the cone eroded away (don't tell Al Gore, he'll be taxing us to replace it) and all that remains, now, is the hardened core. It looks like a giant tree stump.

We are on I-90 and have, after much debate and consideration, decided to stay on it to Troy, NY when we will cut straight across Vermont and New Hampshire to Seabrook. From where we are, and despite warnings of construction and the ever odious tolls, it seems the shortest and cheapest route back. The only hurdle is Chicago and, depending on when we hit it, it won't be that bad.

Of course, things change and stuff happens.

Today we gobbled up 760 miles.

Most of the pains with which I started the trip are gone. My yoga continues to ease my back pain. My knee gets a little stiff but is obviously healing. And, finally, my left rotator cuff appears to have strengthened under the constant but gentle demands of piloting my steel horse.

In two days, all that will be left is the clean up. The bikes look irrecoverably beat up though they were washed once, already. But, amazingly, they will return to their former glory with just a little soap, water, and polish. It looks like the decay of ages but, in fact, it's just a little dirt. Same for the riders. In a few days, nobody will recognize the look of the adventurer.

So it goes ...

Day 21

It was the best of days. It was the worst of days.

Beautiful clear morning as we enter Yellowstone. Our old person park passes get us in free. First stop: the paint pot fields. I was there once with my mum. It's a strange steaming and bubbling place. Next stop Old Faithful. Still old but far from faithful. The last time I saw her there was a “clock” by the boardwalk with the time of the next geyser. Now, if you ask around, and you have to because there are no park rangers talking up the biggest draw of Yellowstone – go figure, you'll learn that Old Faithful erupts, in our case, sometime between 9:10 and 9:23. She's late. Old Faithful doesn't erupt until 9:36. If you're nearby, Yellowstone is an intersting geological diversion. After all, it's a freeking huge volcano that you ride around inside. If you have a week to hike and visit the harder to get to places, it could be really fun. But, as a vacation destination from some distance away, I'd invest the time and money elsewhere.

Out of Yellowstone and into Buffalo Bill Cody National Park. It's like the badlands in all the old TV westerns. A pretty drive. Some animals. Few photos. We have them all. I did get a dot photo of an eagle. I guess there's just so much I can expect from my camera.

Then into Wyoming farm land. It's very pastoral. Lots oif big ranches with beef cattle roaming around. We pass an airplane dump. Later, we pass a tow trailer dump. Why strange dumps in Wyoming? Who knows. Who cares, the sun is shining and the temperature is just right.

We stop for gas in Cody and learn that there is a deluge ahead that may be dropping 2 feet of snow on the Big Horn mountains and we have to go through them. A kind local gives us directions to a shortcut but it won't save any pain. I stick with Rhonda, who chooses the northern route. The sky is graying but the road is promising. It begins, almost immediately, by descending into a very tight canyon with some nice s-curves and a couple of switchbacks. The rock walls are old and crumbling. They look like lizard skin. In time we begin our assent. This is a tough road. Very tight turns, rough surface, and countless switchbacks. It makes the famous Deal's Gap look like a training school for beginner riders. It's 80 miles of demand. The rain begins and the temperature drops 25 degrees to 36F. Fresh snow is visible but the rain holds. I'm not on my game, today. The rule is, if god says don't ride, don't. But, we have places to go so I try to take it easy and be very attentive. I'm relieved when I reach the top and find 8 miles of straightaway. I can catch up on lost time and I know that a decent into warmer, if not dryer weather must be ahead. Sure enough, the twisties and the switchbacks begin but almost immediately the darkness of night descends like a wet stage curtain and suddenly I rush into fog so thick I can't see beyond my windshield. Oncoming cars loom out of the charcoal air visible only when they are within 15 feet and then only as a pair of headlights. I cut my speed to 5 mph and watch the white line – thank god it's there – to the right of my windshield. I pray that the traffic I meet can see their line. Occasionally, I catch a sign that says, “Open range. Watch for cattle.” This provides little comfort. How long I'm trapped in this twilight zone I don't know but rounding a tight left hand turn, I'm popped out of the fog and greeted with a sunlit vista of an emerald green valley that extends for what seems like a hundred miles. I must be thousands of feet in the air. It's breath taking but a long way down. I know the end must be near and the darkness is behind and above me. I move on taking each turn carefully until finally I'm on level ground, with clear sky. I boot it. It's a joy to be free of the grip of the Big Horns and the farther back they are the better I feel. When I reach I-90, I pull over to wait for Bruce. He's about 10 minutes back. When he pulls up, he asks, “How'd you like that fog?” What a kidder.

We motor on, the most demanding part behind us but, the rain returns and intensifies. The last 38 miles to Gillette, were we decide to gas up and hold up, is in a torrential down pour. For me a cold one. My hands turn white getting a beer from the fridge. The cold rains, without heated grips, have been painful from the start. I have good ones in the garage. I just didn't install them. Regradless, the bike smells the barn and we bolt for first, fresh gas, and second, a familiar motel.

Tomorrow, Devil's Tower if the weather permits. It is not supposed to. But, sometimes god loves me.

Day 20

There are no pictures today. The ride was great but not of photographic interest.

We saw only one example of wild life and that was a black moose. I'd never seen a coal black moose before but I still did not take a picture of the young cow. The temperatures were dropping, we'd been riding for 7 hours and rain threatened – but never came. I just figured of the hundreds of moose pictures I have , one more would just get lost in the pile.

I forgot to mention, yesterday, that coming out of Banff on the ranger road, which happens to be Route 93, the main thoroughfare, is a town called Radium Hot Springs. The ranger road is closed when snow makes it impassable and is below Route 1, which is used by most tourists and sightseers, who come out of Calgary. It was closed when we left home but, I was glad to see that it was open when we got to the parks. It's been an early spring all around despite being one of the coldest winters on record. Climatic extremes persist! Anyway, Radium, apparently, has an hot spring grotto under, what is probably, a posh hotel. However, passes are advertised at other surrounding motels and inns and, I believe the public can buy a pass from vendors or the hotel. The hot spring spills out of the hillside below the hotel and is called Steam Stream. But, the most intriguing part of this enclave, which comprises the hillside directly associated with the grotto, the town becomes “normal” in its lower reaches, is its Alpine theme. It looks just like Baden-Baden or a village out of the Tyrol. I'll bet there was some good eating there but, we don't do lunch (so no pictures either) and just passed through. A place to come back to, perhaps.

(I just asked Bruce if I could have a peanut. He was in the bathroom and told me are “none in here, there's toilet paper”. I wonder if I should begin to worry.)

Couer d'Alene, where we stayed last night, looked like a normal western ranch town when we pulled in but on the eastern side of town we found, as we were leaving, that it's all amusement and water parks. It's the fun center of the Idaho Panhandle. Who knew? A family could spend a week there and I'll bet some do. Another place to go back to, perhaps.

I-90, yes, our I-90, out of Couer d'Alene is a lovely road, with overhanging shade trees, tight “s” curves, and the occasional switchback. Speeds are 75 so one can have fun if they want. It traces beautiful rivers, cuts through canyons, and darts through passes. Not at all the cookie cutter Interstate of the new order. I wondered why and realized that I-90 is one of the older Interstates built when there was less federal meddling. It's really a beautiful high speed boulevard that took us all the way to Boseman, some 389 miles away, where we turned south to West Yellowstone. Alas, there is construction, some of it proudly proclaiming the application of stimulus money, all along the way making the necessary changes to destroy its charm and bring it squarely into the expectations of Simpson's watching Americans.

At Boseman, we meet cold mountain air and overcast. There were two “short cuts” that I tried to convince Bruce we could take and maybe save some time. Rhonda and Bruce insisted – go to Boseman. Without seeing the other roads, I would still say, I'm glad. 191 follows the Gallatin River. It's been in the news because of the rains and flooding and it's raging. That makes it quite dramatic to watch. Any more rain, which looks likely but is not in the forecast, and there could be trouble. For now, it's a big payday for the many rafting, white water kayaking, and pontoon boats that make there living off the rapids. Those that made reservations for this weekend, lucked out. We could catch portions of their “fun” from the road as we drove up past them coming down.

We arrive in West Yellowstone a little early for a normal stop but do so anyway. Better weather is predicted for tomorrow and we want an early start on the park in the morning to get all we can out of it. West Yellowstone is very touristy but that's not a bad thing. It means lots of funky and standard eateries, shops and people. All a nice change from the wilderness.

Day 19

Again we leave early with clear bright skies. Soon clouds develop over the mountains and we are doing, successfully, the occasional shower. Our main objective is to tour Jasper and Banff parks and then burn as many miles to Yellowstone as we can. Although, I stop to take a few meaningless mountain pictures, some shots of a huge elk, some big horn sheep, I miss the deer, they are too skittish and a beautiful small herd of mountain goats containing a big old fella with a fluffy mane as big as a lion's. What I had thought were mountain goats before turn out to be baby big horns. I capture some adults with adolescence today to prove the point. The small mountain goats look similar but have black spiky horns and, of course the adults, who can be quite large, have the big manes and longer more menacing horns. It is raining just a bit to hard and I'm on a down hill curve. So, I don't dare to get the shot hoping to come across some others later. I don't and that's too bad. I enjoy shooting the mountains but there are just so many. But, I really like getting different views of the animals for some reason.

So, today's samples include a less than meaningless mountain because it has a glacier in the middle and a grizzly old goat who has real character.

The ride down 97 through the two parks is an intimate and up close condensed version of everything we have seen to date. It would be a great hiking, sightseeing, camping destination – like if you had a truck camper. Of course, it's a haul for a weekend from the coast.

Once out of the park we head south, west (into Pacific Time) and then south again into Idaho- landing in Couer d'Alene, a big town to us old mountain men. Idaho is nice. Nice people. Big cattle and horse ranches with the cows and horses wandering around unfenced. Maybe not every ranch and every cow/horse but, some. There are organic farms, and produce stands, and guys dressed in black wearing black cowboy hats – and guys dressed in white wearing, you guessed it, white hats. We get a lot of conversation at the gas stop. Everyone admiring the bikes and giving advise on how to get where we are trying to get to. It's nice but very crowed down here in the lower 48. No doubt, soon, we'll be back in the prairie wishing we could find someone to talk to, again.