My mother, Shirley Pyle, had made her annual pilgrimage to check on her Calgary brood. Having children in both Calgary and Florida is a definite bonus of retirement. Each day that was nice I would ask her if she would like to go for a ride on our Wing. Each day it was the same answer. “No, I might fall and break my hip.”
On the Saturday before she went back to Toronto I asked the same question and received the same answer. When I got home from doing some errands with the bike, Mum came down from the front deck and stood admiring the Wing. I had been thinking what a great day this had been. Sunny and warm, just a great day to be alive and riding. “You know Mum, you are going to be really choked if you live to 85 and die with a great hip and have never done anything in all those years.” I had hit a sore spot, but it was said now. We went in and got ready for supper.
Sunday we didn’t go on the group ride. The kids were coming over for supper. Things were all prepared by 3 p.m. and it was a gorgeous day. I asked, “How would you like to come for a short ride before the kids arrive? Not far. Just around the city. This is too nice a day to pass up.” I almost fell over when Mum said OK. Pam and I hustled and got her outfitted with jacket and chaps, helmet and gloves. When she got on board I could tell she was nervous. A few instructions on leaning, etc. and I put an easy listening station on the radio. As we drove along Memorial Drive, we chatted about the bike and good rides, and the smell of evergreens in the mountains and seeing hawks hovering above you. She was impressed that Pam, on the 1100 Shadow, could talk to us over the CB as we rode through traffic. Along Deerfoot Trail we passed some of the chapter members coming back from the group ride. They waved and Mum waved back. All bikers wave at each other, don’t they?
Soon I can feel tapping on my shoulder in time to the music. I can feel that she is relaxed and getting into the joy of this great day. We arrive home just before the kids are due for supper. We help her off and pull the helmet. What a grin. “How did you like it?” The answer was obvious. Then I asked another question. “We’re going to Alaska next year on our bikes, want to come?” Her reply shocked me. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
Mum arrived a week before we were due to leave. This was good. We had a chance to get in some good “break in” rides to Bragg Creek and Cochrane for pie and coffee.
Pam was really enjoying her new-to-her lowered 90 Wing, with many comments on how much better this was going to be than riding the Shadow. What a great bike to ride. It sure handled like a sports car compared to my 94 Wing. Pam’s cassette player quits. I don’t think she tried it since our great fairing disassembly. Maybe it is just a belt off but I’m sure not going to get into dismantling it at this time.
On Friday morning, June 28, John Smith and John Elderkin arrived for a scheduled 10 a.m. departure. We were surprised when Brian Axani and Joe Haliday showed up to escort us to Sundre. With 3 hours of riding experience starting the trip I didn’t want Mum to bail out before we got out of the province. I had planned the first few days with plenty of stops to try and break in Mum slowly. She caught on quickly. Ride a little. Stop and eat. Ride some more. Stop and eat. She reminded me that it was almost 50 years ago that I was on 2 hour feedings. Highway 22 is great. Lunch at Sundre...saw deer at the side of the road near the gas plant....stop for cheese buns at Caroline. Black clouds were building ahead so we had a long coffee at the Dairy Queen in Rocky Mountain House. The DQ wait paid off as we just caught a bit of the rain. Unfortunately the roads were just wet enough to allow the mud to coat the windshield but not wet enough to wash it off. We stopped in Drayton Valley for windshield duty. Another sprinkle around Mayerthorpe made the Green Gables Motel at Whitecourt even more inviting. I’m sure my bike smiled too as I hosed it off at the car wash before supper. Pam’s seems to have an air leak in the new rear suspension. Probably just one of the air line connections is loose. Plan is to just pump it back up and keep an eye on it. Brian, Kirsten and Alex Lucas arrive safely too, having left Calgary a little later.
We decide to second breakfast at Valleyview, since it will get us through Moose Alley before the semi-traffic builds. At the cafe, a lady across from us gets talking with Mum. “Amazing, going to Alaska on a motorcycle. If you are going to Dawson City you must stop for cinnamon buns,” she says. Has our reputation preceded us?
To miss the truck traffic, we head north towards Peace River, then west to Dawson Creek. There is no place that has clouds like the Peace River country. They drift across an intense blue sky all at the same height like migrating white rabbits. God I’m a lucky fellow. As we are driving along Mum admits she almost chickened out a few times but when her other option was to watch the traffic go past her front verandah all summer, with the encouragement of her neighbors, maybe she should take the chance. She’s glad she did. Lunch at Rycroft, then we detour into Spirit River so Brian can see where his wife was born.
Our first big milestone comes up as we find the “Mile Zero Post” of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek. Our reward for this great accomplishment is a trip to Dairy Queen. (Any excuse will do.) The mighty Peace River is crossed just before Ft. St. John. The valley is huge and the pipelines cross on separate suspension cables.
We pull into the hotel parking lot to find Ed & Tilley Hardy’s bike and trailer. Having left a few days early, they took a “short cut” to Ft. St. John via Hay River in the NWT. What do you mean it is way longer? Unfortunately their alternator died as they came over the Peace River bridge. Ed scoured the western Canada dealerships while visualizing his great adventure having a premature demise. Fortunately, Turple Bros, in Red Deer, is going to pull an alternator from a bike and send it up by Greyhound. It’s great to see a dealership that goes beyond the call of duty to get someone on the road. Everyone is most impressed and I know that sort of service is bound to earn them more sales. Joe and Lee Alberding and Larry and Roz Sagstuen are already in Ft. St. John to attend the wedding of Joe’s niece. Collin and Shirley O’Brien arrive safely with their friend, Fred Radtke. There are now 17 people on the great adventure. We will generally be traveling in 3 groups, the campers, the motelers and the late risers. Pam’s air leak is persisting. Each time she stops it requires refilling.
El grande pancakes for breakfast at Pink Mountain and a gas bar that has to be unlocked anytime someone pulls up. A group of bikes from Illinois gasses up there too. Through out the trip our paths would cross many times. There seems to be a sort of natural pace. They would be in a gas station as we drove by; we would be having lunch and see them go by. The forest goes on forever and the way it is cut back from the road it seems like we are driving through a green canyon. We stop for a stretch at the side of the road someplace south of Ft. Nelson. Brian takes the opportunity to check his oil. The silence of the bush is almost deafening. No cars, no planes, just the wind in the trees. A few miles later Brian is on the radio. “My bike’s on fire.” He is at the end of the pack about a mile behind us, so we pull a quick U-turn and roar back. Big crowd at the side of the road. It turns out that he hadn’t inserted the dip stick tightly and some oil splashed on to the hot exhaust. The panic is over. This is good; it would be a long wait for a Greyhound if it really had been a BBQ’d Wing. Lunch comes in Ft. Nelson where the Muskwa River crossing is the lowest point on the Alaska Highway. About 150 km later we are at Summit Lake, the highest point on the Alaska Highway. We stop in a gas station just to take in the scenery of the Rockys and have a stretch. The camping bunch are staying at Muncho Lake that night but we push on to Trapper Ray’s Lodge across from the Liard Hot Springs.
What a great road, what a great trip!
Liard Hot Springs are extremely hot. Small man-made dams form the hot pools. Benches have been installed in the pools which allow you to sit neck deep and have a very comfortable soak. It seemed so strange when we first walked up to the pools and see most people crowded around the little dams and nobody at the far end. It doesn’t take long to realize the further upstream you go, the hotter the water. Our hardiness measure was four benches from the top, provided you scooped cooler water from the bottom to keep from being boiled.
Trapper Ray’s is a unique place. The first sign of his sense of humour is the traffic stopping stuffed bear mounted part way up the telephone pole right at the side of the highway. He has a pet pig that wanders the campground and doesn’t take any guff from the dogs. For a unique gift you could even purchase a lacquered moose tooth key chain. After a leisurely supper the food and hot springs and 700 km day really start to take effect and I can hardly keep my eyes open. As Brian, Kirsten and Alex head back to their tent, a young bear romps around the outdoor refrigerators. Sure hope his mother doesn’t show up. Sure am glad I’m in the lodge tonight.
Over breakfast at Trapper Ray’s we hear the baby bear/refrigerator story from the Lucas clan. We are finally loaded and rolling and around the first curve there is a big bear by the road side. It crosses my mind that this may be mother bear searching for the baby. This could cause some excitement at Trapper Ray’s and I’m glad I won’t be there for it. About 10 km later we hit our first construction of the day. A few miles worth that is not bad to start with but in the last 100 yards the bare tire track gets narrower and narrower and the gravel on each side of it gets deeper and deeper. We’ve slowed right down and the Wing tire is just fitting down the bare strip. My pucker power is at maximum for this balancing act. I come out of the bad part and look in my rearview mirror just in time to see a white Wing go down. I get off and start to walk back when I see Pam pick herself up, look at her bike and start walking towards me. As she gets closer I can see she is very upset. John Elderkin brings her bike out of the bad spot and we stop to inspect and soothe tattered nerves. There are a few scratches on the bike but the major damage is Pam’s pride. She is now more mad than anything and anyone who has gone down when the gravel pulls the bars from your hands knows her frustration.
Bob's mum, Shirley
During the break Mum decides it is a good time for a smoke break. Her purse isn’t in the trunk! After a few minutes of reasoning she realizes that it is probably still sitting on the parking lot fence at Trapper Ray’s. John Smith volunteers to go back for it. We will keep going at a slower pace until he catches up with us.
We have clear road for about another 50 km before we hit some more construction. We sit in the traffic until they finally give us the go ahead. It starts out as hardpack on the widened right shoulder then swings back on to the road bed. What looks like nice smooth ground gets softer and softer until I am contemplating leaping off as the bike wallows barely under control. Just as I hit the hard pack, the radio crackles, “Bike down, bike down”. In my mirror I can see 2 bikes down. I pull up to a clear hard spot and walk back. Both Pam and John Elderkin bogged in the dirt. By the time I get there Pam is ripping a strip off the construction superintendent’s ass. They graded the road but didn’t pack it before sending the traffic over it. I think the superintendent was seeing law suit all over this incident so he had the construction guys help pick up Pam’s bike. The ground was so soft that when they got the bike vertical it just stood there by itself with the wheels buried deeply in the sand. We kicked down a dirt mound down the centre of the road and with much pushing and grunting got the bike out of the soft stuff and over onto the hard pack not 10 feet to the left. I wonder why they didn’t direct us down that part in the first place? Both bikes are OK, John is really mad and Pam’s confidence is now shaky. If I were Pam I think I might have parked my bike and jumped the next Greyhound south. I’m worried that this will jeopardize the trip.
As we gather our composure, John Smith arrives with Mum’s purse. Every cent is still in there. It is a tribute to the honesty of people in this rugged land. There are many places I’ve stopped where I know the story would have been very different. Fortunately John got to ride over the newly packed detour and was cautioned to be very careful by the flag person. We saddle up and hit the road again.
We coffee break at Contact Creek where the north bound and south bound construction crews met when they were building the Alaska Highway. The road is truly westbound now. We zigzag over the BC/Yukon border at least twice before Watson Lake. The country is incredibly beautiful and rugged.
Watson Lake arrives just at lunch time so we cruise in to the Watson Lake Hotel. While eating, we question the waitress on accommodations in Whitehorse. She recommends the Capital Hotel where she used to work. A lively place but she has never seen the rooms, but then again, the owner of this hotel now is also a part owner in the Capital and he wouldn’t buy a dirty place. The lady at the desk makes our reservations. Funny how some good food and friendly people improve our spirits. We cross the road to marvel at Watson Lake’s claim to fame, the signpost forest Joe Alberding (in the other group) has brought our Chapter sign to hang. Unfortunately we are ahead of him by an unknown distance, so I’ll let Joe tell this part.
As we rode into Watson Lake the road opened up to four lanes of new pavement. We found out it didn't go any further than the town limits, and presto back to the same old conditions. All we had to do now was to find the sign posts, and that wasn't very hard as they were right beside the highway on the way out of town.
We drove through Watson Lake in 1983 on our way to Alaska, with the four of us in the station wagon and about a ton of gear; tents, camp stove, food, etc. Yes I do remember the trip quite well. Any how we were back, only this time on our motorcycle.
I had a sign made by Guy St.Pierre from "Cycle-mania". The wording on the sign was as follows: Calgary, Alberta - Gold Wing Road Riders Association - Chapter AB-A - June, 1996. I thought it would be kind of neat to post this sign along the other 20,000 signs (that’s how many they estimate to date).
Joe Alberding pointing to Chapter AB-A's contribution to the "Sign Forest"
I asked the girl at the information station where we could hang our sign and she told us to go to the far west end and find a spot. If you haven't traveled to Watson Lake, and beyond, its a good one to put on your wish list. Make sure you stop and see our sign at the far west end. Its easy to spot cause its bright blue on acrylic board with white lettering and measures 18” square. We walked what seemed like a half mile to get to our spot. There in the very last row of poles, there it was - an empty spot, about 10-ft off the ground. We asked a couple of German tourists if we could borrow their picnic table to hang our sign. They picked up the table and carried it for us. I had brought along some long screws, anchored the sign and we took some pictures and moved on.
When I developed the pictures they weren't very clear, so I guess I'll have to go back some day and get a better one. I don't think it will be on a motorcycle. Most likely something with four wheels, air conditioning, roof, bathroom, shower, microwave, satellite dish, etc. etc. etc. and best of all, no dust.
When we left Watson Lake we weren't ten minutes away when the clouds burst open again and we drove into another tidal wave. ....Joe
I am always amazed when we have gone on long rides and broken into several groups spaced even a few hours apart that the weather and conditions can be so different along the same road. We only hit a few drizzles between Watson Lake and Whitehorse, mostly it was blue sky and white clouds. I’ve heard the rest of Joe’s rain and mud encounters and am glad there was that time difference.
The road continues to zigzag along the border and we cross the continental divide between Rancheria and Swift River.
Around Teslin a huge river plain appeared to the left. It was majestic on its own but way off in the distance you could see mountains - big mountains. We stopped for pictures a few times and tried to guess which mountains they were but never did get it right. I think it was John Smith who several days later announced their true identity. The view was spectacular enough to fester him for that long.
We arrive in Whitehorse about dinner time. Cruise past the stern wheeler into the downtown and find the Capital Hotel. It is rustic with the bar upstairs and the rooms (relocated trailers) anchored to the side, but the rooms are clean, the staff friendly and the price is right. Chinese food for dinner. I am amazed at the design of the hotel. When I come in from the street the band is almost deafening but down in the room we can hardly hear them. Another 700 km day with unplanned and planned stops. We are really north now. It only turns to dusk and never does get dark. The Whitehorse and Dawson City area was one of Brian Lucas’ favorite stretches so now you get to see it through his eyes.
Having spent an interesting night in the old Capitol Hotel in Whitehorse we got up to find the weather was not cooperating. A continuous drizzle of rain prompted all of us (Bob and Pam Pyle, John Smith, John Elderkin, myself and my 13-year old daughter Kirsten and 18-year old son Alexander) to put on the appropriate rain gear.
Before leaving Whitehorse we all wanted to have a look at the SS Klondike a 300-foot long riverboat which was the largest of the boats that once shuttled back and forth between Whitehorse and Dawson City during and after the years of the Gold Rush.
While we were enroute to the SS Klondike, which is permanently dry-docked on the west shore of the Yukon River in downtown Whitehorse, we heard some chatter on the CB which we recognized as Joe Alberding, Ed Hardy and Larry Sagstuen. We were able to get in touch with them and let them know we would be touring the boat and made plans to meet them there.
The SS Klondike has been remarkably preserved by Parks Canada. A guided tour of the boat gave us all a real sense of day to day life on board for crew members and passengers. I can still imagine the effort required to keep the enormous wood burning furnace stoked with 4-foot long spruce logs that had to be added every minute. Cleaning out the ashes, man-handling the freight, loading tons of wood for fuel kept the crew busy and exhausted much of the time. The Klondike was one of many riverboats on the Yukon and collectively they consumed thousands of acres of Spruce which were deliberately set on fire by the riverside wood lot operators in order to burn off the useless bark and branches. While it took only a day and a half to get to Dawson City on the SS Klondike the return trip, battling the river current, took three and a half days to get back to Whitehorse.
About the time we were ready to leave, Joe and Leona Alberding, Ed and Til Hardy, and Larry and Ros Sagstuen rode into the parking lot. This was the first time we had met up with this group since leaving Calgary and while we would be traveling separately to Dawson City we knew it was a planned rendezvous point and we would be spending time together once we got there. Leaving our friends to enjoy the SS Klondike we began our trip to Dawson.
There is a book entitled "The 25 Greatest Roads in the World" and it includes the Silk Road through China, the Apian Way in Italy, Route 66 in the USA and two highways in Canada among others. One of the Canadian roads is the Trans- Canada Highway and the other is the highway from Whitehorse to Dawson City. I believe the highway to Dawson City is one of the great roads in the world - not because of the state of the pavement, which ranges from good to fair, and not because of the scenery, which is pleasant and even breath-taking in some spots, but because of the historical significance of this road to the gold fields and the impact the great Klondike Gold Rush had on the world.
As you leave Whitehorse and begin a climb into the high country the first large lake you come across is Lake LaBarge (made famous in the poem "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert Service). The road often runs near the great Yukon river and at other times seems to wander far from the water's edge. I remember catching a glimpse of 5-Finger Rapids where the old riverboats had to be winched through the perilous narrow channels of the river. Boats were sunk here and lives were lost in the fevered quest for gold.
Brian Lucas, Alex and Kirsten on a glacier north of Valdez. Alaska
I remember the beauty of Emerald Lake with it's lapis lazuli colours of aquamarine and deep inky blue-black.
Several days previously, in a caf� in Valleyview, Alberta, we had been told by a tourist returning from the north to be on the lookout for the Cinnamon Bun Airstrip along side the highway to Dawson. Tales of fabulous cinnamon buns of heroic size made an indelible impression in our hearts (or was that stomachs?). When we got there we were not disappointed.
Literally in the middle of nowhere is a gas stop and caf� on the west side of the road and a dirt airstrip on the east side. It seemed that every vehicle traveling either north or south was stopped at this caf� and as we pushed our way inside it was apparent we were going to have to stand and wait a while before we could sit down. I'm not sure we were initially all that keen on having to wait. Then we saw one of the waitresses bringing out a cinnamon bun the diameter of a dinner plate and about 4 inches high out of the kitchen. That was enough for us. We knew we were staying.
How was the bun? Let's put it this way, "Don't miss it"!
After leaving the Cinnamon Bun Airstrip on our groaning bikes the road started to get more and more interesting from the perspective of a bike road. The further north we got the more the road began to twist and turn as the road builders struggled to overcome the natural obstacles of water, hills, and muskeg.
The rain eventually slowed then stopped, the clouds began to break up and sunlight filtered through all about the time that the road began to get really interesting. I was having the best ride of the entire trip so far. Swooping and sliding our way to Dawson we were in the groove and it was a great run.
At one of our gas stops we met two families from Colorado riding BMW's. We left a little ahead of them and I looked back to see them following us at some distance. From past experience most BMW riders that I know seem to want to travel at a high rate of speed. I did not think they would be there for long. Within about 10 miles of riding they decided to get by us and went ahead with a thundering roar and a friendly wave. Within a few minutes they were well out of view ahead of us. We had the road entirely to ourselves. Oncoming traffic was almost non-existent.
As we began to get within about 20 miles of Dawson City we began to drift down in elevation. The Yukon River is only about 1,500 feet in elevation at Dawson and it is still almost 1,800 miles from its eventual outlet on the Pacific Coast of Alaska.
The first indication we were getting near the gold fields, and Dawson, were the huge meandering dikes of washed river stones left behind by the gold dredges. The dikes went on for miles and it slowly began to sink into all of us the staggering amount of work done here to bring out the gold.
At a small lay-by on the side of the road we saw our Beemer friends resting their aching butts. We gave them a wave as we swept by.
Dawson City looks like a movie set from the old west except you must realize that it is not fake in any way. These are the actual buildings and they have stood here since 1898. Much of the historic heart of the town has been lovingly restored by Parks Canada and they have brilliantly preserved the gold rush feel of the place with excellent displays and interpretive exhibits.
John Elderkin in Dawson City
When we arrived in Dawson we had plans of staying for a day or possibly two if it was interesting. We ended up staying three days and wished we had more time to stay longer. If you go to Dawson take lots of money (northern prices are high) but see everything you can squeeze in! The tour of the gold dredge was a highlight of the trip for me but there was nothing that I did not enjoy here. .....Brian
You can leave some money behind at Diamond Tooth Gertie's Gambling Hall - Dawson City
I whole heartedly agree with Brian, I too can say that “There is nothing that I did not enjoy at Dawson.” The Follies; Diamond Tooth Gertie’s; the stern-wheeler grave yard; the view from The Dome; panning for GOLD; the Sour Dough Saloon and more and more. Take at least a week there if you can. There is far too much to see in just 3 days.
The Top of the World Highway from Dawson to Tok caused the most anxiety during our planning. Many expressed a strong desire to skip the gravel and come back down to Whitehorse (554 km) and run on “pavement” from Whitehorse to Tok (651 km). I didn’t relish the long backtrack but left it open. We would check on the road at Dawson and if it was raining and slick go around. Fortunately we wake up to blue sky and sunshine. So it is on to the ferry across the Yukon River. It is an incredible climb out of the river valley and the view turns from absolutely spectacular to awesome!! They have built the road mainly along the top of the ridges. The road is fine grind hard pack. It is perfect! There are no guard rails so that makes the ditches about 1000 feet deep but the road is so good that our worries evaporate as we cruise along at 80-90 km/h. It is crystal clear and the mountains north and south of the highway are layered to the horizon. You feel like you really are on the top of the world.
The border crossing is different. Out in the middle of no where, slightly down from the top of the ridge are two small buildings, one log the other clapboard. I think it was the Canadian that had the generator set, with a overhead cable to the American office. You had to ask yourself, “What foul deed did these customs guys do to end up with a posting out here?” We cleared customs with the usual questions and headed for Boundary, our planned breakfast stop just past the border.
Boundary is an airstrip, gas pump, store and cabin. “Sorry, we don’t serve breakfast here. The cafe/bar burned down so we got the cat and bulldozed it over the side of the hill. I have pocket sandwiches from Whitehorse that I can microwave for you.” Real breakfast it turns out is about 45 miles away in Chicken.
The American side of the Top of the World Highway is a stark change from the Canadian side. Fine grind hard pack is replaced with standard gravel road. We are throttled way back now so breakfast seems to get further away.
Chicken arrives suddenly. Down a swooping curve to the right then left; you can see the buildings the other side of the creek. The store and gas pump is set well back from the road. We gas up and figure on a great breakfast. No way! There is just the gift shop here. We have to go to Downtown Chicken for food.
Out in the parking lot there is a small crowd gathering. As I walk up I can see Alex’s eye. They are as big as saucers. A fellow is showing Alex his gold. “Panned it down in the creek last night.” Alex caught gold fever in Dawson so he is ready to abandon the trip right here. The gentleman is a miner. He has a claim up Bonanza Creek by Dawson and this is the first summer vacation he has taken in years. There is about $4000 in nuggets in his pan, a nugget ring to choke a horse, a nugget belt buckle that must grind down his hips to hold up, but best of all is a pear shaped nugget about an inch across and 2 inches high hanging from a leather thong around his neck. I ask him if he is worried that he might get robbed? His simple reply, “Where they gonna go?” He is right. There are only 2 ways out of here and you can’t do either of them fast. He shows us the nuggets and explains how gold is easily traceable to it’s origin because of variations in color and composition. Slick, never knew that before.
Downtown Chicken is about a hundred yards down the highway and turn left. As we approach the parking lot it looks like pictures of no-mans-land between the trenches in WW1. Some craters are full of water and some are empty. The depth of the empty ones tells you don’t drive through the water! We weave our way through the mine field to find a parking spot. Downtown Chicken is a bar, a gift shop and a cafe. We are famished so it is straight to the cafe.
There is a limited menu. John Smith opts for muffins. I order the short stack (2 pancakes). John Elderkin walks in announces that he is starving and orders a tall stack (3 pancakes). The lady at the grill tells him. “You can’t eat them all. You only get two pancakes.” Mum walks in. She sees the size of them on the grill. “Those are way too big for me. I’ll just have one.” The lady at the grill announces, “I don’t make half orders. You get two.” OK! The pancakes are served in a large gold pan. Each cake is about 12 inches across and 2 inches high. We step outside with syrup and butter to eat at the picnic tables. Most everyone else comes out with pancakes. The lady was right. None of us could finish two. We fed the remains to the mangy dog. This must be a regular occurrence. He will only eat the portions with both butter and syrup.
John Smith at the most northerly road crossing into the USA - Taylor Highway AKA "Top of the World"
As we are eating a young lady comes out of the cafe, hugs an older gentleman, grabs a beer and jumps in a van with a bunch of guys. When we take the gold pans back in, the grill lady is pulling pies from the oven and asking the gentleman, “What did she say?”. “She just gave me a hug and said see you.” The lady puts her help wanted sign in the window as 2 tour buses pull in. We get out quick. I know it is going to be a nasty scene.
We hit our first construction on gravel. It is dusty. It is bumpy. But it is all very do-able. Pavement greets us at Tetlin Junction with a short run into Tok. The Tok visitors centre on the north side of the road is a huge log building. It is worth stopping just to go in the building and look around. A nice lady there suggests Eleanor’s B&B in Fairbanks, so I call ahead and tell them to hold space for 5. (The Lucas clan are turning from motellers to campers at Fairbanks.) We have a late lunch at a historic park near Delta Junction and roll into Fairbanks well before dark. (Of course, it never gets dark!) We clean down the bikes and make plans for tomorrow. John Smith, Mum, Pam and I are going to wander around Fairbanks. John Elderkin has been babbling for weeks that when he gets to Fairbanks he will check on the road and try and make it to the Arctic Circle. Our host, Roger, utters the right words and John is hitting the sack for an early morning departure.
John Elderkin was out of the chute for the Arctic Circle before any of the rest woke up. John Smith headed out for his Fairbanks tour immediately after breakfast. Mum, Pam and I had a lazy morning, gabbing with the locals and relaxing. Our tour of Fairbanks led to some interesting discoveries: an incredible statue of Natives (“The First Family”); and the most northerly Harley dealership, Value Village, K- Mart and Dennys in the world. Funny what a small world it is. I have a framed picture of a white, chrome, and gold trimmed Harley in a snow covered background hanging in my office back in Calgary. It turns out that the bike belongs to the owner of the Harley shop. We cruised around to the campground but all we found were empty tents and camping trailers as everyone else was off doing their thing too.
Our intrepid Arctic explorer arrived back safe just in time to go for dinner at the Pump House, a great feast and the home of the biggest stuffed bear I have ever seen. The trophy Kodiak bear was over 9 ft. high. It is a good indication that there is a lot more of Alaska to be seen from other than the roadways. It was only John Elderkin’s great modesty that allowed us time to eat our meal while we heard of his great Arctic Adventure. But he can tell you all about it.
It is Saturday morning, 6:30 a.m.. I just pulled away from the Macs store after fuel and coffee, and can feel the excitement of what lays ahead on the Dalton Highway. I don’t have to wait long. While still on pavement, I encountered frost heaves that would hide a full size Buick. Then the road turned to crushed stone and then to hard packed gravel. Every time you became complacent or every 10 miles, (whichever occurs first) the road surface would change and this was intermixed with bone jarring potholes. Maybe it was experimental road surfacing, it just didn’t make sense why the surfaces were so different.
I was soon at Livengood, the start of the Dalton or North Slope Haul Road. Again I would start to think I had the road mastered, sometimes 45-55 mph, but then I started to encounter steep grades. They were all marked, most were 10 and 12%. Invariably there was a 20-30 mph curve at the bottom which in itself was not too bad but the bottom third of the hill was all wash board from the truck traffic. If you had to brake sharply on the washboard you had a good chance of going down. Some of the ditches along the Dalton are very deep, (hundreds of feet), and the road is quite narrow in places.
The Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which crosses such a hostile environment, was one of the most amazing engineering feats I have ever seen. While still amazed by the spectacular scenery, I had glimpses of moose, rabbits and a wolf.
At the end of a long grade I crossed a long bridge with the pipeline attached to it and there was the Yukon River Crossing service centre. It was time for some hot cakes, coffee and fuel. It was still 42 miles to the Arctic Circle. While having coffee and chatting up the locals and other tourists, I soon found being on a touring bike brought almost instant celebrity status. So after an enjoyable rest and conversation, I saddled up for the last stretch to the Arctic Circle sign.
When I reached the Arctic Circle sign and visited with more tourists, I realized I was only 250 miles from the Beaufort Sea. So I decided to go the extra few miles to a place called Coldfoot. It is well named, because that’s where everyone gets cold feet and turns around. I didn’t dare stop and go in at Coldfoot. I’m sure if I had gone in, I would have bought a 3 gallon gas can and my next stop would have been the Beaufort Sea.
John Elderkin at the Artic Circle!
On the way back to Yukon River Crossing I was comforted by the thought that I will return and will go to the Beaufort. I have read many articles of people and bikes going up the Alaska Highway. I think it is most important to just use your common sense and don’t listen to a whole lot of people that give you bad advice along the way. I would not advise a trip like this by yourself. It is much smarter and a lot more fun if you can talk some other crazy people in to doing it with you. I can’t hardly wait to do it again. .....John
That’s funny, he must have forgot to tell you about the killer rabbits waiting for him on the hare-pin turns at the bottom of 40 degree hills which were covered entirely with potholes like the Arizona Meteor Crater (the hills, not the rabbits). I clearly remember him telling me those parts. But all kidding aside, it took a lot of courage to tackle the haul road while everyone else was sight seeing.
At our first gas stop of the morning we met up with some of our camping friends. At that same place we also met a young lady bicycling down to Anchorage. From her we learned that we had missed “Skinny Dick’s Half Way Inn”, about 20 miles outside Fairbanks, one of our “must see” places along the route. A roadhouse with a reputation, it is owned by Dick, who is skinny. As the bicycler said, “If I only had one night to spend in Alaska, it would be at Skinny Dick’s”. I couldn’t convince anyone to drive back so we’ll save that as the excuse for another trip.
Some of the camping crew had made reservations for the tour buses to see Mount McKinley (highest point in North America). Unfortunately, after they set up camp and went for the tour, it rained. They couldn’t see the mountain and Joe and Lee topped it off by finding their suitcase of clothes on top of their trailer in about a foot of water. Fortunately, Till Hardy had put Joe’s jacket in her trailer so it was the only piece of clothing Joe had left that was dry. Unfortunately, Till lovingly gave Joe the dry jacket at the wrong moment. Joe pitched the jacket into the puddle to join his other clothes and Till ran off yelling, “He’s mad! He’s mad!”. It is true, strange things happen in the land of the midnight sun. The Lucas clan didn’t stop for the tour but further up the road pulled off into a roadside view point. For them, there was a great view of Mount McKinley in all it’s splendor. Our bunch lunched at a restaurant that had a beautiful picture of the mountain taken from the restaurant roof. Otherwise we saw nothing but clouds in that direction. It strikes me as funny that on the same road, on the same day our experiences could be so radically different.
It never crossed my mind that there may be rush hour up here. We discovered that most everyone in Anchorage must head north for the weekend so we hit the Sunday night traffic as we rolled into Anchorage. Our destination was the home of a lady we met in Fairbanks. “Will you stop and water my plants when you are in Anchorage?” was followed by, “Why don’t you stay at my house, I won’t be there anyway.” This kind of hospitality was never expected but greatly appreciated. You sure meet some great people on the road that make the journey of life so wonderful and memorable. Thanks, Sharon, from all of us.
Monday and Tuesday were local tour days. Included in our wandering day was downtown Anchorage; the dock area; Earthquake Park; the Air Museum and the sea-plane base. There were far too many neat thing to see and do than are space for in this article. Rent an Anchorage video or go see for yourself. Did you know that downtown office workers often spend their lunch hours fishing in Ship Creek which flows through the downtown? What a life!
Our Tuesday trip to the Kenai Peninsula and Seward was rained out. It was beautiful and sunny until we got to the Portage Glacier, where it was raining. We got the word that it was solid rain and fog up and over the pass all the way to Seward. Oh well, the ride back to Anchorage in the sun was great.
During his pre-ride inspection, John Smith found his rear tire had lots of tread but only in some places. Rather than tempt trouble we headed over to the Anchorage Honda dealer for some new rubber. First in line, John explained that we had to catch the ferry from Skagway and asked if they could look after his tire promptly. We kill a few hours at the local restaurant. Long after they said the bike would be ready, John is standing at the service counter amazed as they place another bike that has just come in for a 600 mile check ahead of John’s. John’s tire still hasn’t been started. His eyes are beginning to bulge. I’ll wait outside. Another fellow with a GL1200 and homemade tent trailer pulls up and goes in to get a tire too. He comes out a few minutes later muttering in disgust. So we know now it isn’t just the way John combed his hair. I am sure this dealership must have a captive market, he would starve in Alberta.
John finally rescues his bike for only double the cost of a tire in Calgary, but it does beat having a bike with a flat hauled to the ferry. When I think back, we had a far better reception with our Goldwings at the Harley dealer in Fairbanks. We finally hit the road long after noon headed for Tok.
Well it is just another gorgeous day in Alaska. Mountains, mountains, and more mountains. Some with glaciers. Some with forest. Some with just snow on top. They go one forever. Glenallen is about half way across. The highway was excellent for the most part but after Glenallen it became a little tedious. Frost heaves had been repaired in places and it made for short stretches of gravel, which were easy to see. In other places, the heaves hadn’t been repaired. So you were always concentrating, trying to read the road. There was no traffic so you could use the other side if your side was bad, but you knew it was going to be a dilly when the white line disappeared or did a big squiggle. Constantly speeding up and slowing and weaving your way down the road definitely was tiring. It sure beats bending an axle, which was my big concern for some of the frost leaps that snuck up on us.
We had planned to stay at Beaver Creek just over the Yukon border but the tire and roads made Tok the best sleep spot. Pam still has the air leak in her rear suspension. Inspection showed one of her fork tubes was about and inch higher than the other. The rough roads must have loosened the bolts to finger tight. A rock, 2x4 and John Elderkin’s bear paw grip aligned the forks and tightened them back up. We checked for loose things more frequently after that.
We heard the usual horror stories from the lady at the restaurant. How bad the road was to Dawson. (It seemed OK to us last week.) How terrible it is to Fairbanks. (That one was even better.) Maybe we should just slit our throats and set our bikes on fire. It always sounds far to bad to go on. I wonder if she has even left town this summer? Pancakes are delicious for breakfast and it is just another great day in paradise, so we head for Whitehorse.
Just south of the border, we hit the construction. I mean CONSTRUCTION! Ninety miles of gravel, road jams, single lanes, dust, detours, mud and other assorted trials. It was just tedious. Every bit of it was very do-able, if you took your time and didn’t do anything silly. The part I hated the most was a huge fifth- wheel with a fancy pickup from Kansas. At times we were traveling a little fast for the conditions but kept to the right when someone wanted to pass. That outfit went by doing about 75 mph throwing gravel everywhere, but most irksome was the dust it threw up. You had to slow way down because you just couldn’t see. I wonder if they will live long enough to get to the ferry on time.
Destruction Bay seemed like a nice place but too many cars at the cafe. Kluane National Park slid by quickly. But Kluane was the perfect place for a late lunch; out on a balcony, overlooking the lake, with the sun shinning and fluffy clouds overhead, we had silverware and cloth napkins. And, the food was great too. I think I could live here real easy. The rest of the way to Whitehorse was uneventful. Just another great day in paradise, so we thought.
We checked into our favorite Capital Hotel and headed next door for some real dinner. When we got back to the hotel there was a message from Kirsten and Alex Lucas. They had had an accident and were at a nearby bed and breakfast. We headed over immediately. Brian was in the Whitehorse hospital with a punctured lung and broken ribs. Apparently, near Destruction Bay, a small white car had come over the center line on a curve. Brian, avoided a head on accident but his trailer caught the gravel and pulled them into the ditch. Kirsten was co-riding and took some bad road rash to the hands and facial cuts. Alex, following on his own bike, saw the entire event but was far enough back that he was not involved. The white car didn’t stop, probably not even realizing he had caused an accident. In the next car, were two emergency medical technicians who along with the air ambulance proved to be Brian’s saviors. We laid out options and set a plan to call the Whitehorse Chapter Director listed in the Gold Book. As Kirsten and Alex were to find out, in GWRRA, you have family everywhere. You just have to call them. We would go on, cancel Brian’s ferry reservation and call them tomorrow from Juneau.
It was very late when we hit the sack, knowing we had to be on the road again in a few hours to catch the ferry from Skagway. We all looked forward to the Alaska Marine Highway portion of the trip, but I’ll let John Smith tell you all about that.
After a brief visit to the hospital to check on Brian, I joined the rest of the crew, Shirley, Pam and Bob Pyle and John Elderkin, for the ride to Skagway to board the ferry to Juneau. The 180 Km. trip took us past Carcross and over the Klondike pass. The scenery through the pass was spectacular but hard to see through the fog and low cloud. Shortly after re-entering Alaska we found ourselves in fog so thick the traffic was down to 15 Km/h. We used emergency lights and talked each other through the curves on the CB. The downhill ride into Skagway took us past spectacular scenery along the old White Pass and Yukon Railway route. The green & yellow train, now a tourists facility, snaked its old familiar narrow gauge way past the ever present waterfalls and glaciers. A trip unchanged since the railway began taking prospectors to the Yukon gold fields almost 100 years ago.
John Smith's bike on the "Dome" behind Dawson City. Yukon River in the distance.
Skagway was alive with tourist activities. We found the ferry terminal without incident and checked in early, left the bikes and "did" downtown Skagway. Four large tour boats were moored in the harbor. An ancient steam train slid past the bow of the Star Princess to collect tourists for the jaunt over the White Pass while helicopters and small airplanes filled the sky taking tourists to the glaciers so evident all around. The streets of downtown Skagway were wall to wall tourists as everyone tried to do everything during their limited time ashore.
The ferry of the Alaska Marine Highway System, the "Taku" arrived on time and we boarded early in the line as we were expected to secure our bikes. Each motorcycle was provided a spot with securing anchors on either side. Once the bikes were secure we were requested to report to the purser. The purser, Ed Marksheffel, is a GWRRA member who lives in Ketchikan, and wanted to know all about our trip. He regaled us with his many very short rides back home. The boat was barely under way before it pulled into Haines to disembark some passengers and load others. This took an unusually long time but we learned later that the delay was intended to give the ferry an opportunity to navigate a shallow passage at high tide.
Arrival in Auke Bay, the terminal serving Alaska's capital, was smooth and timely. We missed our hotel turnoff and rode all the way into downtown Juneau. When Bob went into a hotel to find out where we went wrong they offered him a better deal than he had arranged but as the original rooms were confirmed we opted to stay with plan A and rode back to the Super 8.
The first order of business was to get the bikes cleaned. They were still covered with mud from the construction on the Alaska Highway. The local Wand Wash facility provided an opportunity to redeem ourselves with our trusty machines. Later while Pam and Shirley reacquainted themselves with the wonders of shopping malls, Bob, John and I took the opportunity to tour Juneau and its environs. Downtown Juneau is not unlike the dock area of any Pacific Coast town with fish boats and cruise ships at the docks, tourist shops and boardwalks. Juneau would definitely qualify as a town to revisit for a longer time should the opportunity occur.
After viewing downtown we carried out along the coast road south-eastward and found a stream which had been blocked off so any fish going up to spawn would be diverted into a dead-end fish ladder. At the top of the ladder was a tank to trap the fish. They were unceremoniously netted out of the tank, clubbed to death and thrown into wooden crates to be transported to fish hatcheries throughout Alaska. We were absolutely appalled by the process as it left no opportunity for any fish to return to the stream to spawn. We were informed by a gentleman who had heard our discussion of the brutality of the operation that the process, while brutal to our ideas, was most beneficial to the salmon. By hatching the eggs in hatcheries and transporting the fry to spawning streams the fisheries people were ensuring a good chance of many more salmon surviving to adulthood for future generations of salmon - and fishermen. The tour of Juneau concluded with a trip to Mendenhall Glacier where we tasted ice locked in the glacier for over 180 years.
Back to the hotel to get ready for dinner at the Gold Creek Salmon Barbecue - one of the more obvious tourist traps. We found it well organized, providing good food and a well stocked salad buffet. After dinner we enjoyed a pleasant walk along Gold Creek and I tried my hand at gold panning. If mica was worth anything I'd be rich. To the hotel and bed as we must be up at 4:00 A.M. to board the 6:00 ferry to Prince Rupert.
Up at 4:00 A.M. Load the bikes. Coffee in the hotel lobby. We'll get breakfast on the ferry in a couple of hours. Arrive at the ferry terminal at about 5:15 expecting to see the ferry at the dock ready to load. NO FERRY!! and no explanation from the Alaska Marine Highway people. We wait until after 8:00 before the "Matanuska" comes into view. Unloading takes forever and then the crew loads all the motorhomes and trailers before allowing bikes on board.
Once we are finally boarded the twenty or so motorcycles are crowded into the bow of the car deck with no tie down points. We are told that we must secure our machines to one another. We are not be allowed to use any of the lines belonging to the ship and we must be off the car deck before the ship leaves the dock. The first two are bad enough but with the lack of facilities and the fact that we will be in open water for a portion of the trip during which we will not be permitted to visit the car deck to check on the bikes, we take extra time to ensure our bikes are secure. The "mole" (car deck attendant - female) gets bent out of shape because I am unwilling to leave my bike until I am confident it will remain upright and complains to John Elderkin that I have an attitude. On my birthday of all days !!!
This portion of the trip is overnight so we have reserved staterooms. Definitely worth the price. The weather is slightly overcast but we see incredible glaciers, icebergs, whales - everything you go to Alaska for. The Alaska Historical Society have provided lecturers who speak on Alaskan heritage, art and culture during the trip. Very interesting but the best part is still the scenery from the outer decks.
Cruise ship near Skagway
As it is my birthday, a party is held in my honor. The mole declines the invitation but my fellow travelers have carried gifts all the way from Dawson City and purchased iced cupcakes for the celebration. The mosquito trap is still in the carton as I write but the book of Robert Service poems is a constant reminder of the fun we shared.
Late in the evening we pull into the harbor at Petersburg for a quick visit. Upon departure, the ferry winds its way through a shallow, narrow channel marked buy 123 separate markers with five short ranges. At one point the channel is so shallow and narrow that the propellers cause a vacuum which sucks the water level low enough to see the rocks beside the ship slip beneath the turn of the hull.
Arrival in Prince Rupert is relatively uneventful until we have traveled all of two hundred feet to the Canada Customs facility. As usual our John E. feels compelled to expound on his opinion of bureaucrats and entertains everyone within earshot. Fortunately these bureaucrats are either deaf or tolerant and we get back into Canada with a minimum of hassle.
The company, the scenery, the motorcycle - an unbeatable combination and a great way to experience such an adventure. Again, many thanks to all the members who helped with the organizing, preparation and the trip itself for allowing me to share it. ....John Smith
John was right. Juneau deserves a much longer look next time. I especially enjoyed how Ed, the Purser, was so excited to have the company of other GWRRA members (just like family) and how much excitement he has with only 19 miles of road back at Ketchikan. Another gorgeous day passed riding beside the Skeena River. There is just so much to see, the totems at Kitwanga being an especially interesting side trip. Smithers, our stopping place came too soon. I found I was tired. I’m sure it was the constant movement on the ferry that just wore me down. It couldn’t have been the many miles and burned out eyeballs from trying to look at everything.
The mood is changing. This is the first day that I feel like the trip is almost over. I know there are many more miles to go but getting off the ferry yesterday was a marker. Today it just seems like a ride, no longer the great adventure before us. Maybe I’m just getting biked out.
Lunch in Prince George. I love Greek salad. It seems to take forever getting the group back together and rolling again. I have become complacent. Ho hum, another bear at the side of the road. BC is loaded with them. A little drizzle doesn’t seem to help.
John Elderkin finally hits the right note. Dairy Queen at 100 Mile House. I swear he has a nose for these places; finds them even in obscure towns on back streets. It is just a quick run down to Cache Creek. Tomorrow is one of the best biking roads in Canada, Highway 99!
A quick breakfast at Husky House and we are off in the rain. I love the curves, the sweeping ones in the mountain valleys. Too bad Mum can’t see the peaks. She is the only one who hasn’t been this way before. She is still excited, there are still mountains. The wooden bridges sure add to the pucker power. There are a few coming out of curves and you know they are liked greased glass when wet. I always wanted to stop in Lillooet. Even a coffee would be good but the consensus is to press on to the cafe in Pemberton. The lady that owns the place loves New Zealand. She has even put New Zealand pictures on the bathroom walls. The place is for sale. I just can’t imagine it with different owners, it has the right character already. I think I’ll make a trip one day just to stay in Lillooet and come back here for a big meal. It is just too pretty around there.
Gas up in Whistler. It was much nicer last year when we finished 3 Flags Classic here. It was gorgeous and sunny then; rain today. The traffic is really picking up as we approach civilization again. We pull off for a rest stop. Mum almost leaps of the bike and dashes for the ladies room. Amazingly, she has been holding out since breakfast so she wouldn’t have to peel off sticky rain suit, bulky leathers and layers of clothing. Yup, been there. She comes back with a smile.
It is early rush hour as we arrive in Vancouver. John Smith peels off to visit his folks. We will see him back in Calgary. As soon as he is gone it feels like there is something missing. It felt the same when Brian switched to the camping group at Fairbanks. We carry on at a snails pace through construction and very heavy traffic. Our destination is Abbottsford where our new grandson, Jordan, awaits us. Of course his brother and mother and father were there too, but he was born the day we left Calgary and we are anxious to see him.
At Abbottsford, John Elderkin splits off. He is heading down to the Puget Sound area and will meet up with us around Winthrop, Washington on Sunday night. We are down to 3. Pam, Mum and myself. Pam announces that she has had enough biking. We are going to rent a car while we visit the kids. I must admit it is a great idea. I must be biked out.
We spend Thursday, Friday and Saturday visiting and shopping and playing with Grandchildren. I’m glad we stopped for longer than just one day. I really needed a Grandchildren fix. I miss the ones in Calgary. Saturday night, John phones us at the motel. He will meet us in Okanogan at the Ponderosa Motor Lodge. Pam’s back tire seems to be a little short on tread. I think there is plenty to get home, but we will keep an eye on it.
It is a beautiful sunny day as we restart our great adventure. We cross the border at Sumas and head across the Washington farmland. The plan is to take highway 547 then 542 and 9 to Sedro Woolley, then pickup highway 20 through the North Cascades. It quickly turns into forest. Not just a bunch of trees but deep forest. Quiet, with lots of shade and patches of sunlight streaming to the road. It is forest where you know that deer live, and it isn’t long before they are bounding across the road in front of us. The road is so twisty through the forested hills that I loose track of direction. We end up in Maple Falls by some unknown route. The name didn’t sound familiar so we stopped to ask. The instructions: “Down the road. At the church fork to the left. Keep going till you come to #9. Turn left.” Well, we were close, but we never do see a sign that says highway 9.
We leave the heavy forest for farmland again. Rolling farmland that follows mountain valleys with heavily treed slopes. Another great day to be alive. Left at #20 and we are really heading eastward and homeward. I recall Concrete from last year. A money maker for the local police force because the speed limit is different on each side of the road and it stays low. The police sit in the cafe parking lot, radar the westbound traffic, pull out and grab them before they get to the side road; ticket them and pull back in around the motel to the parking lot again. Sure keeps the mileage down on the police cars. Mum has become pretty adept at taking off gloves, using cameras, etc. on the fly. Just past Concrete her off glove flies away. Fortunately she sees it go and we are able to retrieve it before being flattened by too many cars.
The North Cascades are gorgeous.....to the point where Mum’s vocabulary is diminishing to OO-OOO-OOO accompanied by shoulder taps and finger points in an appropriate direction. Lunch is at a little place with picnic benches and rabbits. There is a basket of bread near the door and it says “Bread for Rabbits”. I think how nice it is for people to donate bread for the rabbits but they would probably appreciate lettuce. As we eat lunch it doesn’t take long to realize that the bread is for the customers to feed the wild rabbits that are all around the field and picnic area. They hop right up to your table looking for goodies. They appear to be wild gray and brown rabbits but they have hung around the restaurant too long. Good thing they are not on the menu.
Rush hour in Beautiful British Columbia
A Blues festival has swollen the population of Winthrop and the main street is full of bikes. We stop for a yak and a cold drink. We are back in the land of 90 F heat and it sure feels good. Last spring when I rode over Loup Loup Summit it was snowing. It is a gorgeous ride in this heat. I recall last year through here in the fall and stopping at a roadside orchard for fresh Washington apples. They aren’t ready yet so we cruise in to Okanogan and find John.
Okanogan is neat. It is funny how some places stick in your mind because of a strange little business or a unique event. In Okanogan I always look for the “Wack and Yak” hair dressing salon. Not posh but homey, I can not imagine naming a business that but it sure fits. That night we check Pam’s tire and it seems like the rubber is melting off it. I am concerned that it may not make it to Calgary.
An early morning start up the valley to Tonasket and then east across more North-West Washington beauty to Colville. As we gas up in Colville a fellow with a new-to-him GL1200 rides up and yaks for a bit. He has had his bike 2 weeks and didn’t take lessons since he rode many years ago. He is amazed we have come so far. As we watch him wobble away we are amazed he has survived the 2 weeks. I sure hope he takes a course. McD’s of Colville satisfies our appetites but we almost loose our bikes in their soft newly paved parking lot.
As we head for the road out of town, we are startled by a very loud noise like a huge air raid siren. The noise is so loud, we can’t determine where it is coming from or what it is for. We get about 2 miles east of town and a red pickup truck with lights flashing flies by us. Shortly we see smoke over the mountains ahead. This doesn’t look good. We eventually round a curve to find the side of a mountain engulfed in flames. It appears that the fire started near a house at the base of the hill. There are many fire trucks and people fighting the blaze and more cars and trucks are arriving. We are thankful the road wasn’t blocked or it could have been a very long detour.
The Dairy Queen in Newport is always a favorite stop, with just a short jaunt over to Sandpoint, Idaho. Heading east on Highway 200 we pass along the shores of Lake Pend Oreille, one of the most beautiful lakes I have seen. A quick ride north up to Highway 2 and then east to Libby, Montana and a great meal at the Cabbose. Pam’s tire definitely won’t make it to Calgary. We’ll try for the Honda dealer in Kalispell tomorrow.
The ride from Libby to Kalispell is usually one of exceptional joy with sweeping curves on 2 lane blacktop. Today it is worrisome as the rubber seems to be dissolving from Pam’s tire. I can’t believe how fast it has worn down. We call LeLands Honda from part way and let them know we are coming.
When we arrive at LeLands’ they are waiting for us. We were instructed to go have some breakfast then come right back. Hmm. a similar story as we had in Anchorage. After breakfast we return to find Pam’s Wing ready to roll and at a reasonable price, too! The mechanic also found her air leak. The right shock has come apart and the increased load on the left one has left it leaking badly. Fortunately it is safe to get home on with no hot-dogging. So, high Brownie points and many thanks to LeLands Honda, a welcome change from Anchorage.
The icing on the Great Adventure Cake.....Logan Pass, the Road to the Sun. This is truly one of the Seven Wonders of the Biking World. The summit area is under construction but we stop for photo opportunities just over the top. WOW!!! Incredible mountains! Absolutely breathtaking! Our favorite pie cafe at St. Mary is our next stop. We head north towards the border and Calgary having settled in to a lazy day ride. Each one of us seems to be slowing down to savor and prolong the day.
At the Canadian border the Customs man asks, “How long
have you been gone?”
“Almost a month,” I reply.
“Where have you been?”
“Alaska.”
“Did you take a wrong turn?”
“No, it was a short cut. Icing on the cake.”
He smiles.
The afternoon goes by too fast and it is sad that our great adventure is at it’s end.
Downtown Calgary
Brian flew Kirsten and Alex from Whitehorse to his parents place in BC. He flew down to Calgary and took his car out to meet them and finish their vacation. His and Alex’s bikes were looked after by Earl and Joyce Hayden, the Whitehorse Chapter Directors, and trucked down to Calgary.
Joe and Lee Alberding and Larry and Ros Sagstuen were part of the group that stayed in Alaska longer. They took the ferry from Skagway direct to Prince Rupert and drove the shortest fastest route to Calgary. Larry was biked out and only rode a few times the rest of the summer. Joe cleaned up his Harley and put it up for sale. It had let him down once to often.
Ed and Til Hardy stayed longer in Alaska too and ferried from Skagway to Prince Rupert, then came home via Jasper and Edmonton with a stop over visit with the Prince George Chapter. For them, another trip to Alaska is an emphatic "absolutely will do". The trip left more questions to be answered and Ed and Til just love to ride.
Colin and Shirley O’Brien and their friend Fred Radtke were also part of the longer stay group. After the ferry to Prince Rupert, they came back to Calgary via Jasper, Hinton and Ponoka. Colin and Shirley will do Alaska again. Fred will only do it on four wheels.
John Smith made it safely back to Calgary after a visit with his folks in Vancouver. “Of course I will do Alaska again, when are we leaving?”
John Elderkin has become the Great Arctic Explorer. As he says, “Some of us are just born to greatness.” He is planning another northern trip. Up to Dawson; take the Dempster Highway to Inuvik; back to Dawson; up to Fairbanks; north to Prudhoe Bay; dip your foot in the Arctic Ocean; back to Skinny Dick’s; after that it doesn’t matter, but we have to do the ferry home.
Pam’s bike is getting repaired over the winter. She is proud that she did the trip but would not want to do it again. Once is enough.
I will join John for a Skinny Dick Arctic Adventure Run. I need to do it one more time and I can’t let my crazy friend go alone.
Friday, July 26, Mum flew back to Toronto. She is the hero of her neighborhood and has many stories to tell when she retires to the “wrinkle ranch”. They will all start off with “Back in ‘96 when I rode on a motorcycle to Alaska, .......”. Almost every time she phones I hear the same words. “This year has been the most spectacular year of my entire life.”
..... Bob Pyle and Friends
