Rock and Roll and Family Values

Hello now from Jericho Vermont, between Burlington and Stowe. I’m at the home of my longest-running friend Chip and his family – wife Janice and daughters Anna (shmooper) and Katie (bug). We have been doing our best to enjoy today’s fine weather and the wonderful assortment of microbrews that are the pride of certain Vermonters.

On my way into town I rode (through much rain) past the Champlain Valley Exposition Grounds, the home of last years’ BMW MOA rally. It would appear that all riders have by now successfully left the fair grounds. I just wanted to make sure.

Tomorrow I will start on the final push towards home. And there are many good reasons to return home. I will write more later about most of those, but for now I will mention that I need to limber up musically for a performance next Saturday, July 28^th. My most excellent rock band –Rival Tribe- will take the stage at Springfield Virginia’s JAXX night club, self-described as “DC’s Euro Metal Home” (whatever that is). As part of a day-long event, we are scheduled to play at 9PM, but these things have a tendency to change. I am 100% excited to play with my bandmates again and to play for those who might appreciate such things. And after three months on the road, I really ought to practice soon. . .

Understood that most readers here are not candidates to visit JAXX as they (you) live elsewhere or don’t necessarily gravitate to Euro Metal, but for those who do attend, I’ll be happy to buy you a drink if you identify yourself with either a BMW motorcycle shirt or a hashing shirt of some variety.

There are many band-related jokes, but my favorite applies to me – and I intend to demonstrate its accuracy next weekend. . .

Q: What do you call a person who hangs out with musicians?

A: The bass player.

And since the topic of music is at hand, I’ll also include the lyrics to the (incomplete) song I wrote over the past couple months. Called “Right of Way,” it reflects my propensity to yield to most any object larger or more menacing than I. . .

The right of way is what you’ll have if you’re as old as my granddad

Shorts with black sox, and you’re driving an RV

With a hearing aide that’s shot, the whole world’s in your blind spot

How the hell are ever gonna see me?

The right of way is what you’ve got if you’ve been drinking a lot

Seeing double’s no good when you drive

You might weave into the two of me, then the three of us might hit a tree

Then no one would make it out alive

The right of way is what you’ll feel if you drive eighteen wheels

Hauling logs and kicking up stones

On the Dempster or Dalton Highways or the Top of the World Skyway

I don’t want to be left with broken bones

The right of way for you is clear if you are a reindeer

Like the chicken, why’d you cross the road?

You and me we’re pretty scared about the narrow lane we just shared

One antler in my wheel and I’d explode

Okay, enough of faux-creativity, time to enjoy my time with friends. . .

Rally, then Over the Great Lakes

Riding among many other motorcyclists can be a high-volume affair. Supporting slogans such as “loud pipes save lives,” motorcycles – especially in groups – have been known to send people running with hands cupped over ears. BMW motorcycles present a notable exception. They run quietly; at full throttle a BMW typically sounds like a washing machine in its final spin cycle. (Interpret no implication that BMW bikes are underpowered as I am referring to an industrial sized washing machine – one that could easily wash a blanket or half a dozen stuffed bears).

Approaching West Bend Wisconsin last Thursday, all must have noticed the progress of thousands of washing machines speeding toward a common location. It was the thirty-fifth BMW Motorcycle Owners Association (MOA) national rally. It was the second that I have attended.

A lot happens at a four-day motorcycle rally. Experts conduct seminars. Riders explore the region. Vendors pitch their products. Most importantly, friends meet.

I can’t readily count the number of people I met up with. Several were familiar from my local BMW Bikers of Metropolitan Washington (BMWBMW) club. Others were previously known to me from the contributions they’ve made to the MOA and/or the Adventure Rider (ADV Rider) forums. And of course new friends were made.

I was among thousands of people with specific interests in the exact activity I’ve enjoyed since late April. And I’ll admit that I did indulge a bit. This is an only-mildly-edited version of what I had to say to the ADV Rider group:

“Um, hello. That rally pretty much ruled. I didn't do so much over the weekend that was motorcycle-related. Instead, I made the failsafe decision to focus on beer. This can be justified by mentioning that after leaving home 10 weeks ago and riding 17,000 miles, it was time to flip the miles/beer ratio, at least for a couple days.

I am quite sure that I met more than one ADV rider. . . .and I do recall that you all were a pack drunken messes ready with distasteful commentary. As such, I thank you for being there when I needed you most.”

You get the idea.

I did manage to do a couple of constructive things at the rally. For one, I took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation’s Experienced Rider Course. When later asked what I learned at the course that I haven’t learned in prior years (and more specifically, in prior months), my answer is, “I learned that I can maneuver just fine, but I’m really good at stopping.” Certain buffalo-related incidences excluded, this is consistent with my stand-still-until-the-danger-passes approach to most things. I also went for several runs, mostly in search of coffee.

I should have mentioned this in a prior post but I forgot. . . Somewhere up in British Columbia I broke the frame of my riding sunglasses and while in Missoula, I bought some more, and having recently heard that polarized lenses provide good light protection, I selected a polarized pair. Funny thing, when I first put the new glasses on, all was fine – but when I lowered my helmet’s face shield, a whole new world appeared before me. It seems that some property of the face shield interacts with the polarized lens such that certain sources of light (reflections from car windshields, bodies of water, some well-worn sections of the road) appear to have distorted colors. The distortion is dramatic at times. An oncoming windshield can appear as bright purple, then in an instant appear as orange, then perhaps neon green. It takes some getting used to, but the distortion does not impact one’s perception of depth or speed. So who cares if a silver car is suddenly hot pink? And then turquoise? Truth be told, I’ve overstated the impact here – it is not the case that the entire world changes colors infinitely. It is the case that ‘patches’ exhibit the condition, sort of like a grouping of “hot pixels” in a digital image.

Leaving the rally, I rode for several days with my friend Jim (a.k.a. “JimVonBaden” on the forums). He and I had similar plans to loop up and around the great lakes on our routes back to Virginia. We both had grand images of what a place named Destruction Bay must look like – surely it would be spectacular to see, a combination of treacherous rocks, unforgiving waves and the scattered remains of boats that took a chance.

From West Bend, Jim and I headed northwest at first, barely missing the western edge of Lake Superior. We passed through a bit of Minnesota, then into Ontario were Destruction Bay presented a stifled post-industrial downtown area. It did have a Laundromat, so we were pretty happy about that.

We passed along the northern shore of Lake Superior and enjoyed riding through winding, pine-lined roads and getting periodic views of the lake. The lake, by the way, was brilliant blue – and through my miracle glasses, also lime green at times and sometimes also lavender.

After Lake Superior, we passed over Lake Huron and earlier today we parted ways, with Jim heading south to home and I making one last stop –in New England- before I too return to the DC area.

It turns out that Jim and I rode and got along quite well together – I’m glad we made the trip together. Note also that Jim is very savvy with motorcycle mechanics – so he’s a good guy to have around for all kinds of reasons!

Heading eastward toward Ottawa, I continued east along the Trans-Canada Highway. At one point, I found myself riding with much spirit along with two Harley Davidson riders. A moment later, the three of us were parked on the side of the road, having been flagged down by a policeman. He seems to be of the belief that I was traveling 141 km/hr in a 90 km/hr zone. I refuse to believe such nonsense as that is the hallmark of someone far less responsible than I. It seems that I’ve been invited back to Ontario next month. There seems to be no “decline with regrets” option on the RSVP card. . .

Heading East

Leaving Missoula, I took to the interstate for a couple hundred miles to Bozeman, then dropped down to Yellowstone National Park. I’ve had the opportunity to visit the park in the past and while I’m certain that I haven’t experienced a half a percent of what the park has to offer, I was interested in making progress eastward so I merely dipped into the park so that I could exit to the east.

The mountains of northwest Wyoming are amazing to ride through. To make a comparison, the roads in the Jasper/Banff area pass near the mountains, along the relatively level (but winding) river. But in Wyoming’s Rockies, the roads pass right through the mountains, offering willing motorcyclists the opportunity to climb and descend. And turn. A lot. Given the right weather, it’s a great playground.

The mountain passes in the area provide terrific views from 9,000-11,000 feet. It seems that I didn’t take any good pass-view photos on this trip. Is it cheating for me to post one from five years ago? (Researching the rules of my travel post, I determine that no, it is not cheating – besides, seeing a photo of Griffin is far more appealing than seeing yet another of me in my power ranger suit). Here is a shot of the world’s best dog at Bear Tooth Pass. . .

It was later this day that I rounded a corner and came across the accident scene. And leaving that scene I saw what at first appeared to this nervous biker to be a bizarre cloud formation. The prevailing consensus is that it was actually the rising smoke from a nearby wildland fire. So much for my previously-rock-solid “mystical sign from mother nature’ theory.

After leaving the hospital the next morning, I again took to the interstate for a few hours and made my way to northwestern South Dakota to visit the Black Hills and the Badlands. Rounding one corner, I looked in my mirror to see George “Peekaboo” Washington lurking over my shoulder. I pulled over to re-create the angle.

Badlands National Park seems completely out of context with its surroundings. In the middle of an open and flat landscape, the Badlands present an eerie collection of jagged hills and spires. Pretty cool!

From the Badlands, I continued east. A mixture of highway and secondary road riding provided a mixture of fast-paced riding through mostly-flat grass and corn fields and slow-paced riding through mostly-flat grass and corn fields. I visited Sioux City for an oil change and went for a run that evening in which I took a bridge over the Missouri River into Nebraska. I’ll need to check the regulations of this thread, but I’m pretty sure that visiting a state briefly by foot does indeed contribute to the states-visited metric.

Yesterday I rode through Iowa and to Madison Wisconsin. Later today I’ll ride an hour or so to West Bend where the BMW Motorcycle Owners Association annual rally is already underway. It’ll be nice to be among 9,000 other riders for a few days!!

Fire Plume

RE: " Your cloud looks more like a fire plume. I heard there were fires in that part. What do you think? "

Nonsense! Wildland fires are dangerous. I'm way to smart to ride near anything like that! But just to be safe, I'll avoid huge column-like mysterious clouds. . .

Kenneth

Hello now from Murdo, South Dakota where a major thunder-ripper just swept through the area and I’m happy to be indoors and have the bike covered. I have a bunch of photos and descriptions to share about the last two days of riding, but I first need to tell you about the events of yesterday (Sunday) evening.

Winding my way in the early evening along Wyoming’s route 14, I was nearing a nine thousand foot mountain pass when I came across several parked vehicles and a group of people gathered closely. There were several parked cars and *gulp* one motorcycle on its side. I had come across an accident scene.

I parked my bike and ran to the people. A man was lying on his back in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Clearly he was not comfortable; he was hurt. But he was conscious and talking – those were good signs.

“Has anyone called 911?” I asked. A woman told me that several cars had sped away in either direction, all with plans to call. “Are any of you trained for emergency care?” I asked next. No. Another gulp. “I’m an EMT” I said, much to the relief of the others. Their relief was understandable, yet my confidence was low. I have taken all the right training and passed all the right tests, yet I’ve never really put the training to use.

I kneeled before the injured man. “Hi, I’m Paul. I’m an EMT and I’d like to help you. What’s your name?” (This much I remembered from class). He responded. Kenneth knew where he was and he knew the date. He had a strong pulse and was breathing without difficulty.

A man at the scene mentioned that Kenneth’s pulse had been much faster at first but now was about normal. That same man had checked for any major bleeding and had put a blanket on Kenneth. Kenneth complained about back, chest and leg pain. Happily, he was able to move his feet and hands and he sensed when his extremities were touched.

With an ambulance on the way, I felt there was little more we could do for Kenneth other than keep him warm and talking. And so we did.

An SUV pulled up and two real EMTs came forward. They had oxygen, a backboard and other equipment needed to prepare Kenneth for transport once an actual ambulance arrived. I helped by holding Kenneth’s head straight relative to his body while others moved him enough to secure him to the backboard. (From EMT class, this is known as “taking c-spine,” or supporting the cervical spine so to help minimize potentially-paralyzing damage).

As the EMTs asked Kenneth about his medical history and the medications he regularly takes, I realized that should have asked these and other questions earlier and recorded the answers. What if Kenneth had lost consciousness before real help arrived?

Soon an ambulance arrived, Kenneth was loaded in and he was on his way to the hospital.

When all others had left the scene, I took a moment to look around. I saw how Kenneth had taken a right-handed curve too wide. He crossed the oncoming lane and hit the sand. The bike dug in and he went over top.

Others had picked his bike upright and it looked pretty good to me, all things considered. A wrecker was on its way to pick it up.

The sun was setting as I left the accident scene. Off to my right I saw an incredible cloud formation, a huge column of clouds illuminated like crazy by the sun’s low rays. My thoughts were jumbled but the cloud formation provided an odd reality that helped me focus on what was happening in the moment rather than imagining different accident scenarios.

Night set in as I continued out of the mountains. Deer were out and free-range cattle were on the road, as were other motorists who wanted to travel more quickly than a shaken-up animal-shy motorcyclist. At one point a very large haul truck was following closely when I saw two cows directly in front of me. There was plenty of time to stop, but the circumstances of the evening were piling up to create a very unattractive package. I laughed nervously as the cows zig-zaged in front of me, trying to decide if they should exit the road to the right (over a guard rail, then down a steep decline) or to the left (up a similarly steep incline). Each cow chose a different path. The right-moving cow tried to jump the guard rail but didn’t do so well. It took several efforts to get her hind legs over. Then there was then much crashing as she scurried down the hill. The left-moving cow scrambled upward, dislodging a few rocks that fell and scattered across the road. Meanwhile, the haul truck (with only one working headlight) waited impatiently while I stayed put, sort of shaking, sort of laughing, definitely wide-eyed and jaw-dropped.

Then came the lightning. Not over me, but away in the distance, at the foot of the mountains in the area of the town where I had planned to spend the night. The weather function on my satellite radio-enabled GPS flashed a weather warning. “Yes, I know. And cows too.”

At the base of the mountains I came across a hotel. It was seedy, dark and neglected. I was glad to be there. (Actually, I spoke to the owner and asked if his “Western” hotel was affiliated with the “Best Western” chain – apparently it used to be but he lost the franchise. So now it’s still Western but far from Best).

This morning I drove to the Sheridan Wyoming hospital. Kenneth was there and I was allowed to visit him in the ICU.

In his early 70’s, Kenneth had ridden his new Honda Goldwing from Washington State to attend a rally in Billings Montana. He’s owned other goldwings in the past but this larger model was new to him. He reported that it handles differently in the turns. Kenneth is educated in molecular biology and –as a professor – has taught others the same. I was amazed with how articulate he was, considering his experience. I didn’t bother to tell Kenneth about the cloud, the cows, the truck and the lightning – I figured that he had a few issues of his own to contend with.

As a trained-but-not-practiced EMT, I realize that there are significant gaps in my skills. As a motorcyclist, I am reminded of the risks we assume. But as a human being, I’m glad that I did what I could to help. And most importantly, with a few broken bones and two damaged discs, I’m glad that Kenneth will be fine.

Into the Lower 48

Hello now from Missoula Montana. This town has engaged me and I’ve decided to set some root here. Those roots will last no more than thirty six hours, but that is my longest run in one place sine Dawson City three weeks ago.

I pulled into town yesterday afternoon because the bike needed (big surprise) a new rear tire. From here to home, I’m going with street tires as they last at least twice as long as the more-fun-but-less-efficient knobbies.

But to jump into the details of Montana would be to shortcut a few experiences since my earlier-this-month encounter with a couple massive buffalo. . .

After flinging dirt and fear at a dejected buffalo, I flung my way down to Dawson Creek where I enjoyed some much welcome sunshine and even went for a run of non-trivial distance. In confidence of the Super 8 desk attendee, I learned that the police activity I witnessed when in the same town weeks earlier was a response to a drug-related gun killing. I was glad to learn this detail after I had completed my runs, both prior and more recent.

My return to mile zero of the Alaska Highway represented –for me- the end of the “oh man, you are way out there!” part of my ride. From there on in, all things would be resourced and calculated, right? Perhaps.

I rode the next day to British Columbia’s Jasper park. Jasper is at the north end of the Icefields Parkway which reaches southeast down to Banff, by way of Lake Louise. Wanting to allow ample time to enjoy these adjoining parks, I opted to stay overnight in Jasper. With very good weather, I set up my tent and headed out for a run. Funny –how even after a day of mind-cleansing riding- a run can really set everything right with the world. Great scenery doesn’t hurt.

Ok time for a couple photos, first of the riverside trail, then that evening’s river. . .

The next day I made good on my plan to ride the parks. As many report, the scenery is exceptional. The mountains are dramatic and usher glaciers downward form icefields that are unseen from the road – yet their cooling winds are felt. Parked at one moment, I could have sworn that a certain glacier has plans on encapsulating me and my bike. But realizing that it would take many centuries for the glacier to reach us, I acted –in relation- like lightning when I pulled away forty-five minutes later.

Leaving the Jasper/Banff area, I headed south toward the US. Wait, on more photo from Banff. . .

Entering the lower 48, I headed directly for Missoula’s BMW shop. Having made plans to stay there (here), for the night, I became enamored with the town and decided to spend a “day in place” so that I could enjoy the town’s amenities including highly-great running trails, lovely brewpubs and an opportunity to do a “star-wars volume 4” caliber clean-up of the bike.

Remember how in the very first released star wars, droids R2D2 and C3PO both received a good cleaning at some point mid-movie? It wasn’t the thorough cleaning they got before the movie’s end, but it was pretty darn good. That’s the treatment my bike got earlier today, while I got a back-load of sunburn. In other words, all is well!!!!

Performance Report 2 of 3

Welcome to the second of three performance review reports. This covers the June ’07 performance period and also gives trip-to-date summaries or averages as I may consider appropriate or convenient.

I’ll start again by recapping my goals:

1) ride one huge loop around North America;

2) run 360 miles and

3) raise $3,600 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

Now to report on progress toward those goals and several other metrics.

RIDE ONE HUGE CIRCLE:

Last time I mentioned that success in this category would involve a route that does not return to it’s origin by significantly repeating its “outward” path. As of June 30^th, I can quite safely say that although I’ve begun the trip back southeast, I have repeated very little of my outward path. It’s too early to claim victory on this one, but I bet that I’ll do pretty well. And if not, I’ll gladly manipulate the facts until they fit my idea of a good story. Here is the output from my GPS for the trip so far (Late April through EOM June):

RUN 360 MILES:

This is a dicey category for sure. I am very pleased that last month I introduced the concept of the RME, or the Road Mile Equivalent. I’m quite sure that I’ll need it. I’ll allow a small table to give status on this item

The infinite flexibility of the RME will certainly pick up any slack should I not happen to run 158 miles in July. So again, I predict success!

RAISE $3,600:

Thank you again!!!! . . .to those of you who have given gifts to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Their goals are important to me as they perform research for cures to cancer and provide assistance to those affected. In memory of my father, I decided to support this organization and I’m pleased that many of you have decided to show your support as well.

June’s nine additional gifts contributed $900 to the total, our net values are now $4,065 across 26 gifts. Thanks again!! Clearly, more clicks are welcome - if interested, the link to the donation page is https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=93429&lis=1&kntae93429=885616D3D499435C9BE414B99C4E122D&supId=169175024

OTHER METRICS:

Total Motorcycle Miles:

May: 7,249

June: 5,370

Cumulative: 12,619

Average Miles per Gallon: 41.35

May: 41.35

June: 38.69 (decrease primarily attributed switch to to knobby tires)

States Visited (no double counting from prior period):

May: 16

June: 1

Provinces Visited (no double counting from prior period):

May: 1

June: 1

Weddings Attended:

May: 1

June: 0

Average: 0.5

Years Aged (as measured by birthdays)

May: 0

June: 1

Average: one half hear per month

Haircuts

May: 0

June: 1

Close-Calls with Buffalo:

May: 0

June: 0

July: 1 (projection)

Birthday Buffalo

The Stewart-Cassiar Highway has intrigued me for the last five years. Running south from Watson Lake into central British Columbia, the Cassiar provides an alternate route to the Alaska Highway. I wanted to take this road when I visited five years ago, but two things convinced me otherwise:

1) While at the summer camping trip for the then-active Anchorage Hash House Harriers, one person told me about their experience on the road. While driving at a reportedly-reasonable speed, she ran over an aggressive frost heave, causing her to break an axel and lose two hubcaps. At a standstill, she also was visited by a bear. My takeaway was that the road is spooky.

2) The front drive shaft on my 4-wheel drive RV was rattling something fierce and I sensed that my miles were limited.

So I whimped out and boarded the ferry from Haines to Prince Rupert (and then had the front drive shaft removed a few days later).

On my way up north three weeks ago, I planned to take a ferry to Prince Rupert and then ride up the Cassiar, but as you may recall there was a road wash-out that caused me to re-route my trip.

My next chance to take the road was today. But alas this darn rain will not let up. And having heard that the Cassiar has some significant dirt sections, I opted out. I don’t mind gravel and I don’t mind dirt. But when deep dirt turns to deep mud, I mind a lot.

So dammit, that highway remains untraveled, at least by me. Perhaps one day I will return with a hardy riding pal and conquer the roads that have recently confounded me.

But this birthday was not without event. In the morning, Elizabeth and Michael, the owners of Watson Lake’s Air Force Lodge recognized my birthday with a nice card and candle (which at first I welcomed as food, only to realize that breakfast would be best found down the road).

My second-choice route proved to be rainy and chilly. But my rain gear works well. As does my heated jacket. And this road was paved. And my MP3 player played only the best randomly-selected songs. So all was well.

There were a number of animal sightings including caribou and deer. And the there was a most interesting encounter with some buffalo and a semi truck. Want to hear about that? No matter, because I’m going to tell you.

From about a quarter mile, I saw two formidable specs of brown on the road ahead of me. I slowed. And hen slowed some more, stopping about thirty yards from two enormous buffalo who seemed in no hurry to leave their lane, which also happened to be my lane.

A car approached from the other direction and stopped on the other side of the two roadblocks. I decided to pull over to the shoulder of the oncoming lane in case someone pulled up behind me and noticed the animals more than they noticed me. Other vehicles did indeed arrive from both directions. Two queues were formed, both waiting on two disinterested buffalo.

After a couple minutes, a car or two approaching from the other direction decided to ease forward and pass. They were successful, passing between me and the buffalo. The buffalo stayed put. Approaching next from the oncoming lane was an eighteen-wheeler. Because I’m smart, I recognized opportunity. If I were to advance past the buffalo in the oncoming lane’s shoulder while the very long truck also moved, the truck would provide a barrier between me and the animals while I passed. No time to think; time to act!

As the truck approached, I pulled forward. I did notice that one of the buffalo was heading toward the truck, which meant that I had better move quickly or the truck would be gone before mr. buffalo and I would be quite close to each other. So I pulled the throttle. A lot. With a nice spray of mud and rocks, I passed by the truck with a foot or two between us.

By the time I reached the end of he oncoming truck, I saw the buffalo also rounding the truck’s backside. While I pulled the throttle, sprayed rocks and listened to REO Speedwagon, the buffalo galloped and snorted, both of us about twelve feet apart. I looked in my mirror to see one dejected buffalo. He wanted my bike, I just know it.

Remember how I described myself as smart a moment ago? I might also describe myself as sarcastic. I’ve created a little graphic to help explain the spacing and timing.

It’s now 8:30PM in Fort Nelson and I’m going out to grab a bite to eat. If a buffalo burger is to be had, I’m all over it.

Heading Back from Alaska

I camped another night at Anchorage’s House of Harley and then it was time to begin the (slow) ride back home. And what’s the best way to begin to come home? With a detour, of course!

Several people had strongly recommended that I ride the Denali Highway, a 135 mile stretch of (mostly) gravel road that runs east/west from near the park. So I headed north on the Parks Highway once again and took a right a couple hundred miles later onto the Denali Highway. I was not disappointed!

Bob at the Harley shop had described the road as the perfect place to run a large engine dual sport bike, which happens to be exactly what I (and he) have. All but the first few and the last twenty miles are gravel, but mostly not so deep that you’d wash out at speed. It’s the “mostly” part that makes it so fun!

I was also treated to a great view of Denali (Mt McKinley) on that very clear day.

I spent that night near the east end of the Denali Highway, where the view was wonderful, particularly in the very early morning. For no good reason, I woke up at 4AM and took a look outside, to the north. This is what I saw.

What a great example of the nighttime sky in the northern latitudes! It works like this: in the mid-morning, the sun is visible to the east. As mid-day approaches, the sun rises a bit more, but mostly swings to the south. Toward evening, the sun appears from the west. And during the heart of the night, the sun is below the north horizon, but it continues to light the sky; dusk and dawn sort of blend together.

Growing up, I always thought of mid-day as being a time when I’d have no significant shadow, as the sun would be –more or less- directly overhead. Not the case toward the arctic circle(s)! In the extreme northern (or southern) latitudes, you will always cast a shadow, unless it is cloudy or you are infinitesimally short, in which case you probably wouldn’t be too worried about this point.

Yesterday I rode nearly all day, covering about 530 miles. Perhaps not a full day’s mileage, but considering that I traveled through (literally) hundreds of miles of construction (read: gravel, mud, frost heaves and potholes) and considering that I got dumped on with rain for most of that, I did pretty well. . . .and don’t take any of this as a complaint; it was all awesome fun!

By day’s end I reached Haines Junction, where the Alaska Highway meets the road leading south to Haines, Alaska (I took that road five years ago on my way to board a ferry heading south – but this time I’m going to drive it all. . .)

Another item about yesterdays ride: I had traveled with two cans of beer in a luggage case. I even declared the two cans as I passed through Canadian customs. But immediately after customs, I stopped to get something out of the case only to discover that one can had ruptured and exploded everywhere. In some ways, I had lied because I actually only had one can of beer (another potential topic for debate). But of more importance to me was the havoc played on other of my belongings. It was ugly. With (appropriately) limited respect for a certain Oasis song, this incident will forever be known to me as the “Molson Supernova.”

Today is July 1, at least for another few minutes. It is Canada Day and I am somewhat disappointed that there hasn’t been more visible celebration of the holiday. But as one person notes, fireworks would appear lackluster against a sky that does not get dark.

Tomorrow (soon today) is July 2^nd. It is my 41^st birthday. I have many wild things planned, beginning with a fresh change of clothes. Then perhaps a ride down a road I was afraid of five years ago. . .

Grizzly bears: Cuties or Crazies? You be the judge.

Aw, cute!

Dang, crazy!

RV Living and One Long Run

I followed the instructions from my GPS to Anchorage’s Sand Lake Studio B&B. But I arrived at a single family home. I approached apprehensively and was greeted at the door by a man who introduced himself as Mike. Turns out that I was in the right place; Mike and his wife rent out a very nice loft apartment built over their garage. A very homey feel, complete with two great dogs. Mike was very kind to let me make a complete mess of his lawn and driveway as I tore apart my bike, gear and clothing for a little shake-down and cleaning. Mike and I were both glad that his wife wasn’t around to see the ugliness.

My cleaning and organization project took me up until late evening when it was time to head to the airport to meet Anna’s flight. Taking the bike would not have made sense as there would not be room to carry her and her luggage. So I went for run number two that day (RME factor increases for multiple runs in a single day). Anna arrived, noted my ever-stupid hair and we grabbed a cab back to Mike’s house.

The next day we headed to the BMW to drop the bike off for tires and an oil change. From the (campgroudless) BMW shop we took a cab to *gasp!* the motorhome rental place. In a heartbeat I was transformed from a motorcyclist into a motorcyclist’s worst nightmare, an RV driver. I had wanted a smaller camper, but the only RV available was 30 feet long. IT would be our home for the next week. IT would be monstrous to drive. IT would be an annoyance, threat and real danger to others. IT would eat fuel and produce waste water. IT would be hideous. IT would be fun!

(I forget the exact logistics, but we got a sweet shot of the RV and bike together).

* * I should definitely note that I’m not a complete stranger to RV living. As I think I mentioned, I owned a 21’ motorhome and traveled in it with Griffin the dog for eight months about five years ago. But this motorhome, with its 30 feet in length and it’s “I’m a rental” graphics was a very different animal. Far more annoying. Perfect! * *

Anna and I were registered for the Mayors Marathon foot race, to take place in two days. So rather than leave town, we hunkered down in Anchorage to get settled in to our new home and prepare for the run. From prior travels, I think of Wal-Mart as the de-facto metropolitan place to park an RV on nights when water and electricity aren’t needed. And from prior experience, the Wal-Mart at the intersection of Seward Highway and Dimond Boulevard is the most happening party in town. Apparently my recollection is very accurate because overnight parking has been banned at all Anchorage Wal-Marts due to certain abuses of the retail chain’s generosity. So we headed up the road to Fred Myer (Alaska retail chain, similar to Wal-Mart) where we were greeted with much hospitality.

The Mayors Marathon was great fun. With fewer than 1,400 full marathon runners, the race is very small compared to, say, DC’s Marine Corps Marathon that has tens of thousands of participants. The small crowd size was pretty important as the first couple miles were on a ten-foot-wide path, where passing others was difficult. After a few miles, the course turned off onto a series of full-width gravel fire-roads (not unlike the Dempster or the Dalton!) and the pack thinned out nicely. The scenery was great – it was a bit overcast so some views were obscured, but there were plenty of mountains and wooded areas in full view. At about mile seven(ish), a moose ran onto the course and sort of jogged upstream v. the rest of the runners. Very odd, but very cool!

About half way in, I began to get fatigued. It wasn’t that I couldn’t keep running (I’ve run marathons from start to finish with far less preparation (not quickly of course, I never run quickly)), but that I didn’t want to keep running. I didn’t want to beat myself up so much that I’d hurt for days. I did, however, want to enjoy the city and the event that –ostensibly- I’d traveled so far to experience. I was glad that Anna was of like mind. We ended up walking quite a bit of the second half. And while that might decrease the RME factor, the true 26.2 miles will likely count for some value greater than 26. After all, it was breezy out and we were at about 300 feet in elevation. . .

I found a photo of us online – it’s tough to see us but that makes it sort of fun. I’m pretty much in the center and Anna is to my right, photo viewer’s left.

I should mention that the marathon has significance for me beyond being a great run. It represents the focal point of things done in memory of my father. While I don’t for a moment justify three months of self-serving fun as a duty performed for my family, I gratefully leverage the trip as an opportunity to reflect on my father and to raise some money for a good cause, in his honor.

Okay, this trip report is supposed to be fun – so back to lighter topics!

Leaving Anchorage, our first stop was Talkeetna, a small town about fifteen miles off the Parks highway. Talkeetna is interesting in several ways. Although it is not so close to the entrance to Denali National Park, it is actually one of the closest towns to Mt. McKinley. As such, the National Park Service has an office in the town and all expeditions to “the high one” are to register there – so it is sort of the seat of Denali expeditions. Also, the town has a fascination with the moose. And –strangely- with moose poop. Certain town events involve a moose poop throw competition. Just goes to show that there’s an activity for everyone AND that there’s a use for everything.

From our RV park, Anna and I took a walk into town. On our way we came across a dirt mound that appeared to be used as a bicycle jump. As pedestrians, we gave it our best.

We also stopped at a local bar for some beer, music and wet dogs.

From Talkeetna, we headed up to Denali National Park and into sections only accessible via bus. Our tour was in the evening, predictably the best time to see wildlife. Turns out that we did see an impressive bull moose. And also a wolf. And also some weird little rodent that we couldn’t identify (so we called it an octopus because it had approximately eight limbs). We also saw a lot of great scenery, thanks to clear skies and the angle of the evening sun.

After Denali we turned south again, this time south of Anchorage where we did some great sightseeing, first of glaciers, then of wildlife. I can’t believe how many amazing animals we were fortunate enough to see very close up. I’ll post the best animal shots separately; here is a one of a glacier in the saddle of two mountains.

I should say at least one more thing about RV living. In my own RV, I never really used the toilet as there are certain things I just can’t bring myself to do in my own car. But in the rental I figure that I wouldn’t be creating an environment any worse than had already been created by other renters. So bombs away! Anyway, the downstream part of the process involves a sewage dump. Pretty gross. Remember how my old rainsuit proved ineffective? Well it found its use! And then it got thrown away.

Into Alaska

When last I wrote, I was in Dawson City. That was over two weeks ago! I’ve been (happily) short on time and internet access recently. Now oh man, I’ve got a bit of typing to do!

Leaving Dawson City is every bit as fun as getting there. The west-bound trip starts with a short ferry ride across the Yukon River; the ferry delivers its passengers to the beginning of the Top of the World Highway. “Top of the World” is a fitting phrase, as the road often follows mountain ridgelines. The upshot to this of course is the opportunity of great views everywhere. And although other roads are constructed similarly (Skyline Drive, for example), the Top of the World Highway is often through tundra or above tree line, so little can block the excellent views, save clouds or darkness. Fortunately the clouds were at bay that day and the sun was working around the clock that month.

A couple hours of riding delivered me to the Alaska border, where I showed my passport, set my watch back one hour and prepared for the road to turn from tidy to challenging. On the Canada side, the road is mostly chip-sealed with a few gravel sections. On the US side, gravel, dirt and potholes prevail. What fun! At least on a monster dirt bike.

I passed through Chicken Alaska, a town that seems to pride itself on having just about the lowest possible year-round population (single digits). I wonder how voting works out in that town. . .

After another couple hours of heading southwest, I met up again with the Alaska Highway and headed northwest to Fairbanks, where a large regional Harley Davidson rally was wrapping up. At my hotel, I met a bunch of nice H-D riders, including brothers John and Tom who I would see again off and on for the next several days.

The next day I started off from Fairbanks at about 10AM and headed north for the Dalton Highway. I had initially planned to ride the entire road to its end at Deadhorse, just shy of the Artic Sea’s Prudhoe Bay. But as with the Dempster Highway two days prior, once I was actually at the right spot, I wasn’t inspired to ride to the edge of the earth. I’m not sure why. Maybe I want to look forward to that for another day. Maybe I don’t want to ever see it, just in case it really is made of cheese. Maybe I’m too wound up and don’t want to take the time. Lots of maybes. I respect the ride and those who make it; it just isn’t for me (now).

But I did spend a few hours on the Dalton, just to take a look. I had planned to ride as far as the artic circle but while stopped at a construction site (with a wait time of at least half hour – both ways), I noticed some menacing clouds gathering. My understanding of the Dalton (and the Dempster and other ‘highways’) is that they become amazingly sloppy when wet. I turned back south.

At the bottom of the Dalton Highway, I stopped to top up the air in my tires and chat with a couple other motorcyclists. And after a moment, two people on bicycles came down of the Dalton. The bicyclists were at the beginning of a two year trip that will take them from the top of North America to South America’s Tierra Del Fuego. TWO YEARS! . . .and to start their trip, they rode from Fairbanks up to Deadhorse, just so they could officially cover the western hemisphere nose to tail. In speaking with these people, I was absolutely humbled. I most definitely didn’t share my “what’s the point?” perspective on riding to the top of the Dalton highway (that’s something that I’m sharing only with you and only in private, so shhhhh).

I looked to the sky again and quickly jumped on my bike. Still about an hour and a half out of Fairbanks I got dumped on harder than ever before while on a motorcycle. The Super 8 looked pretty darn super when I saw it.

I cleaned myself up a bit, then ran into John and Tom. They too had been caught in the rain. In fact they encountered hail. And since John was enjoying the no-helmet-law aspect of Alaska, he could quite vividly recount the size and frequency of the hail that hit him in the head. Ouch!

Over dinner, the three of us decided to head south together the following morning. They wanted to make it to Anchorage the next day and I was happy to be on my way south.

We left as planned and decided to stop briefly at Denali National Park. We rode in for the fifteen miles accessible to public vehicles, then returned to the highway. I wasn’t in much of a hurry so I decided to poke around the area a bit more while my new friends headed south.

I did end up making it to Anchorage that evening, in part because I couldn’t find appealing overnight options to the north. And when I recalled learning that the Anchorage Harley Davidson dealership allows for motorcyclists to camp on their property, I decided to head on down.

Anchorage’s House of Harley shares a parking lot with the Alaska Rider bike tour & rental company. Although the Harley shop was closed for night when I arrived, a few folks were still at the Alaska Rider shop. I knew for sure that I was in good hands when I pulled up and the first thing they did was offer me a “nice local beer.” Yes. Yes!

I’m not sure how much to talk up the Harley shop. My first impulse is to tell you all how friendly the people there are. And how they don’t care about what you ride, only that you ride. And that you can camp for free. And that as a camper you have 24 hour access to a secure bathroom and a hot shower. But if I were to tell you all those things, then maybe we’d overcrowd the place and a good thing would become over utilized. So I’ll just say that if you are visiting Anchorage by motorcycle, you should definitely stop by the Harley shop and have a cup of coffee and some good conversation. (oops, did I just tell you that they have free coffee?). And when you are there, be sure to talk to their finance manager Bob, who’s quite possibly reading this as he is a dual sport/BMW motorcycle forum type of guy. (In other words, thanks again Bob!).

I spent the next full day based out of the Harley shop’s camping area, as did a few other motorcyclists. It seems that several of us had been traveling for a while and welcomed a warm sunny day when we could tinker with our bikes, making repairs and adjustments. I visited Alaska Leather, where I picked up a sheep skin seat cover for the bike. The covers reportedly provide a huge upgrade to the comfort of any seat – I agree that it’s an improvement.

I slept in a bit the next morning and opened my tent flap to discover that I had been abandoned. All six other campers had hit the road. I had one more day to kill in town, so I got back to the business of running. I ran for maybe 10 miles (RME quantity pending) and when I returned to the Harley shop, I was greeted by John and Tom. “We found your bike, so then we started looking for you.” Small world!

Later that afternoon I headed over to a B&B where Anna had made a reservation for us to stay. I had a lot of work to do to clean my bike, my clothes and myself before her flight arrived late that night.