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I guess I'm too challenged. Whenever I click on the upload picture button it takes me back to the start of the forum and all it does it runs me around in circles. Like I said. 'Puter challenged....

here's what i did...

1. i went your image link.
2. i right clicked and saved it on my disk.
3. i uploaded it on imageshack.
4. i copied the direct link from imageshack after uploading.
5. did the BB code

here is your pic...

Ya Thanks. I guess I'll have to create and account with imageshack as Yahoo picts doesn't appear to do the job.



Let's try again


Now that's what you call a saddle ------ on a two wheeler...............

July 11. Ken had several days off so we planned a short day ride. In my case it had to be quite short, as I had to be back at home for 2:30 that afternoon. Company from Prince George was dropping by. These were people we had not seen for nine years, friends we had made over thirty years ago when we all were young and full of p-ss and Vinegar as the expression goes. I met with the boys at Tim Horton’s in Langford, a usual meeting place. At the last minute I learned that Doug from Maine island would be joining us and the plan was to ride out to Jordan River for lunch.

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that two more riders had joined us at Don’s invite, Chris, on his vintage BMW and Ben (? not sure, I guess he didn’t make that much of an impression eh?) on his also vintage Honda four cylinder 750. Chris had collector plates on his ride and the other fellow didn’t, as the bike seat needed recovering before it could qualify for them. The Honda was a reasonable condition bike for the year but the Beemer was definitely pristine, a very nice piece of equipment to own I’m sure. I had ample time to get acquainted with them while Don and Ken spent a few minutes ironing out a few of the details for their across the US (from north to south and back) ride planned for late August and early Sept. Neither of these two fellows had proper gear in my opinion, in fact I was questioned by one of them as to why I was wearing my leather chaps since the day had begun in the high teens and could be expected to move on up to the lower twenties.

This gave me the opportunity to express my opinion on riders who choose to chance traveling in shorts or short-sleeved shirts with no proper protection. My answer was that I dress for the fall, not the ride and I know from experience that the leather (chaps) slides much better on pavement or other earthern surfaces then my skin does and that I don’t ride anywhere without proper gear. I can buy new chaps and jackets but skin isn’t so easy to come by.

It took about 30 seconds on the road to assess the new riders skill level and that fit right in with their protection levels. I elected to ride right up behind Don who had elected himself leader. At the first red light I comment to him that he might consider taking it really easy through the curves. For those of you who haven’t been from Victoria to Sooke, the speed limit is pretty much 60 km for the most part and the road is busy as well as definitely twisty. When they can, most cars will travel up to 80 km but generally you are lucky if you can do any more then the actual limit thanks to less adventurous drivers that will be on the road ahead of you. As it happened, we had a tourist just ahead of us and we seldom even managed to hit the speed limit so worrying about a possible speeding ticket was far from our minds. It worked out good though as I feared taking one of these new riders into some of those curves at anything approaching the limit.

I soon noticed that neither of them had any experience riding in a group thus no idea where to position them selves regarding their fellow riders. Chris, on his BMW was directly behind me and so close at times that it concerned me. When we reached Jordan River, I quickly brought up the subject and diplomatically informed him and his friend about the proper spacing and positioning. I can’t say how they did on the return trip as I had to split off from the group to return home, so I had my chicken burger and split for Victoria. Doug rode with me as he wanted to get back right away too. He had a ferry to catch to get home. Doug was less then impressed with our new riding companions until I pointed out to him that if you haven’t been told, how can you know what is proper procedure.


Doug has only been riding for a year and he got his license at age 64. He lit up with a bright smile when I made the comment.

“ I guess that makes me an experienced hand” he commented. You could see he was pleased with that.


One interesting thing of note it that the temperature along the coast was down substantially from what is was inland, so much so that Ben was looking for gloves for the return trip (I did say he had no gear right?) With the chaps on I was perfectly comfortable even when we stopped


Our return to Victoria was uneventful except for two things and both of those things were cars that were traveling well below the speed limit. Why? I have no idea but in each case I had to pass when it was not strictly legal. At first I thought Doug was not going to follow me but he did. When you think of it there was no problem with safety as these cars were traveling at about 30 km (not together) so no problem with being able to accelerate past them. I stopped for a brief chat with Doug before splitting off to my home. He knew his way around from there and must have had no issues as I heard from him a couple of days later via email.

According to the weather reports we are heading in to a toasty spell. Might be a good time to plan a ride up island via the back roads.

Later – y’all.



The crew at Jordan river ---- waiting for our grub.

I'm in the middle, bent down to get something out of my saddlebags. Picture by Ken.

Must be time for another story.


written in the fall of 2005



Spring in an Old Step

The crest of the hill awaits. Only a few yards more and I will break over the lip of the long slope that marks the East rim of Fertile valley. I move slowly, one hesitant step at a time, mindful not to tread on a dry branch. Mindful also, to carefully shift aside any dried leaves before bringing my weight to bear, lest I give away my position and alert everything within hearing to my presence. I don't want to be seen or heard. I want to pass through like a gentle breeze, leaving only the sensation of my having come and gone.

In the distance a crow begins its raucous calling, to be joined by another. It's not my doing, something else has caught their attention and earned their scolding. I pay them no mind, they are merely part of the experience. I like it here, on the ridge, which I have crested now, on route to a favorite spot. I have a number of favorite spots but this one may top the list.

At the edge of meadow, where the gradient is minor, there is a fallen tree. This specimen was once a towering giant with branches that spread wide to capture the sun and shed the rain. A mighty spruce, in its day it housed families of squirrels, nesting birds and served as a perch for eagles and the like. Now the huge trunk rests along the meadow edge, slain by a bolt of lightening and felled by the accompanying wind.

The tree is my destination. From there I will be able to view almost the entire valley. I carry binoculars to assist aging eyes. They are on my belt along with the quiver of arrows that sways silently with each step. My longbow hangs from my left hand where it has spent countless hours, my fingers so accustomed to the grip that I scarcely know it's there.

I round the end of the tree. There is a place, a comfortable place, near the butt, where I usually rest so I can lean back against tall branches when sitting upright becomes to much of a bother. Today the grass is wet with dew. I feel the moisture working its way through my pant legs, to my skin. It adds cool to the experience and gives me another reason to anticipate the sun which is just now rising behind me.

The scaly bark crackles with my weight as my rear end slides back and forth, searching for a comfortable spot without a sharp knot to irritate. I go through this routine every time though I come here often. You'd think I'd have learned by now just where I am most comfortable.

Across the valley, long shadows slip ahead of the emerging sun as it creeps upward into the sky. In the bottom, along the valley floor, a soft mist hangs suspended just over the earth. The crows have moved on so I don't have their racket to listen to but the world is not silent for birds in back of me sing as they greet the day. The air is still but for the swiftly darting bodies of sparrows and chickadees bustling to and fro, seeking sustainment. In the distance, softened by the morning mist, I hear a rooster, surely a slow riser unless he has another reason to voice his appreciation of the day.

The binoculars help me search the cavities in the wooded area around the clearing. Nothing. At least not as far as prey animals go. The distant horizon jumps into view but there's little of interest along there. Some smoke rises in a white column, stark against the blue of the morning sky. It's far away. Too far to be of more than passing interest. Along the bottom of the valley, ghostly images attempt to protrude into my perception but the mist masks them too well. It's still early. The sun will burn the moisture away soon enough.

There is one disturbing feature about this special place of mine. Across the grassy meadow, a country road crosses the open. It can't be seen from where I sit, however any vehicles that traverse it are all too visible. They destroy the illusion of solitude and ruin the experience. This morning there is a vehicle. Traffic is becoming more rare thanks to the cost of fuel but even at $5.00 a liter some cannot do without a car or truck. This morning the noisy conveyance belongs to Bob Brown, a local farmer, still attempting to eke a living from the earth. The roar of the noisy diesel lingers well after he has passed from view.

Bob Brown sets me to recalling the good old days, when we all drove cars and gas cost less than a dollar per liter.

Another sweep with the glasses shows no sign of Bambi. I know for a fact that there are several good bucks that frequent this meadow yet today they are more illusive then ever. Not even the does and fawns are around this morning. I don't believe it's because of me. I come here often and almost always see one or the other. It's almost as though we have become friends of a sort.

Suddenly a movement does catch my eye. Not in the meadow, but along the road. The blasted glasses don't seem to focus clearly enough for I don't recognize what it is. I see movement but there is no accompanying sound to assist me with recognition. A small white object floats across where the road intersects the meadow. I can see it drifting silently along, sometimes visible, other times not, just a meter or so above the road. At intervals I catch a glimpse of black, under the white globe. I can't imagine what it could be.

At one point, the meadow dips and I know the object of my attention will be in full view for just an instant. I focus the binoculars there and wait. Suddenly the vision emerges from the screening grass and shrubs. Low and behold, it actually stops right where I have the best view. I can't believe what I see. I'm looking at a motorcycle and rider, yet there still is no accompanying noise. The white globe that puzzled me proves to be the operator's helmet.

The man sets the stand and steps off. I think it's a man but at this distance, how can one tell? I rise and begin to hobble as rapidly as my worn legs allow, toward the road. This is no ordinary motorbike. It's like nothing I've ever seen, somewhat futuristic in design and deathly quiet. I want to see more. (I didn't learn until later that the thing was powered by a fuel cell). On my way to the road, I can't see what the rider is doing until I realize that indeed the rider is a man and he is facing away, looking across the ditch and a spray of steam rises from the ground between his feet.

I've got about a minute I suspect and then he will be on the bike and gone, so I hurry harder and when he goes to throw his leg back over the seat I yell out, to catch his attention. The rider pauses in the middle of mounting and throws a startled look my way.

“Hey!” I yell again, even louder than before. “Wait.” and I wave my bow to catch his attention. I swear, it's difficult to believe that anyone could move so fast. The rider's butt bounces on the seat as gravel shoots out from the rear wheel and the machine goes careening away weaving from side to side across the road, barely able to remain between the ditches. Somehow he manages to gain control before disappearing around the next curve, leaving only dust and a few rolling pebbles to confirm that he was ever present.

All this time, I hear not a sound from the motorbike. I have never seen one so silent and that puzzles me. So much so that I forget about hunting, forget about the deer and stand, mouth gaping, in wonderment. Why did he act so strangely and not wait to see what I wanted?

The answer isn't far off when I reconstruct the scenario from his perspective. Imagine yourself cruising along a quiet country road and then stopping for a pee only to suddenly find someone yelling at you. You turn and see a grizzled old man, long hair, shaggy white beard, waving, of all things, a bow and hobbling toward you at a rapid pace. Up till then you thought you were alone.

I guess you can't blame him. I wouldn't have stuck around either.

Still, I wonder about that motorbike between bursts of laughter as I walk home.

Great story!

Well. I listed the Harley yesterday. I have this urge to try a BMW. If I get one of those then I can stop waving to other riders. Isn’t that how it works? Not a great time of the year to sell a bike but I don’t really care if I do or not so if there is anyone out there that is interested, fine, if not that’s just fine too. I just want to try a bike with ABS for a bit. I had a test drive earlier this year on one and I was impressed!!!!!!!

Got a weekend ride planned for the 26th, 27th, to a place called Midway. Where is Midway? Somewhere along highway three I believe and somewhere around Osoyoos (sp?). I’m just along for the ride. Don and Ken are heading out for a 5-week trip through the lower 48. They want to take the “Going to the Sun highway” so the first part of the trip requires traveling to Alberta then crossing the line there to get into the US. I’d like to travel at least that far with them but I have this stupid little part time job that I work at every day (Yep that’s right, every day, 7 days a week) and the wife has to fill in for me when I’m gone so considering that she is also working full time now after her chemo and radiation treatments, I can’t leave her for that length of time to enjoy a holiday while she works my job and hers too.

Doug is riding with us and returning with me. We will leave Don and Ken to head their merry way early on Sunday so that we can get to the ferry terminal in time to catch the 3:00 ferry. Doug set the time for that. I guess he has quite a wait for the next ferry if he misses that one. Doug lives on Maine Island, which is a smaller island between Vancouver Island and the mainland. As for travel to Vancouver Island there is a ferry every hour during the summer months so I should be good.

Looking forward to the trip. The road should be plenty twisty once we leave hope and split off to 3
Hiway 3. Never been anywhere near there on a motorbike and as it happens the license and insurance expire of the H in mid September. That just means that I ride the Yamaha for the rest of the year as it has both L and I for the entire year. Ya gotta love collectors insurance for cases like that.

I do hope we get the chance to stop and get a few photos. It seems that so often the opportunity gets passed up for whatever reason.

Garry, you will lo-o-o-ov-v-v-e highway 3. The Hope Princeton through Manning park is fantastic.
Gas up in Hope. The next gas after that is the far end of Manning Park.
There's public washrooms at the lodge as well as a coffee shop.

The scenery is great, but the road is so twisty in places, you won't be able to look at the scenery.

old-n-slow wrote:Where is Midway? Somewhere along highway three I believe and somewhere around Osoyoos (sp?).

Midway is about the halfway point between Osoyoos and Christina Lake.
Blues is correct to say that it's a beautiful highway...

Midway

Just a quick update on the weekend ride from Victoria to Midway then back. What can I say, it was just as Blues and Dr_Bar suggested, a great ride through some interesting country and some tight twisty corners thrown in for good measure.

Loaded up the bike on Friday so it was all ready for the road when we left at 5:45 Saturday am. We had to hit the ferry terminal early to ensure a spot on the 7:00 sailing. I noticed that the overhead sign had the ferry at 67% full when we passed under it a few kilometres from the terminal and this was easily prior to 6:20. Two good things here: we were early enough and we were traveling by motorcycle. That meant we got to load before the four-wheeled traffic

When Ken and I arrived there were already five lanes of cars waiting to load. My guess is that the road sign was somewhat out of date by the time we passed it because it fails to account for the number of vehicles that are heading for the terminal but still on the road between the sign and the ticket booth. Don was five minutes behind us and by the time the ferry loaded there were at least fifteen or so bikes to make the crossing. Pretty well every make and style was represented.

So the three of us disembarked and headed down toward Langley where we met with Doug, the fourth member of our little group. Doug has quite the sense of humour as he labelled our traveling with Don and Ken as “Running those guys outta town” and that’s basically what we were doing as well as making sure they got well away considering that it is about 500 km to Midway from home.

Doug was waiting for us at a service station at 152nd street and after the usual handshakes and greetings we were off. Ken led the way and that was all right except that he likes to travel fast. As Doug put it later, that was the fastest trip he’d ever made out to Chilliwack. For some inexplicable reason, Ken slowed for the remainder of the way from Chilliwack to Hope, so much so that we were actually traveling somewhat slower then the average traffic, which is about as bad as traveling well over the limit. Well that’s riding with a group for you. I have more on that subject later.

I have to laugh at these two guys (Ken and Don). To hear them talk you’d think they know every place and have been there, done that type of thing. The last time we made this trip along number 1 Don led us right past Hope and we had to turn around and go back. I wondered what he was doing but since I was last I decided to follow along and see what was up. He might have known something I didn’t about a fuel stop but nope, it turned out he knew a lot less about that area then he led us to believe.

This time, Ken did slightly better and I know I would have not followed them past Hope again. As it turned out Ken took the approach into town and then from the stop sign, proceeded into the oncoming traffic lane on the wrong side of the medium. I was right back of him but I didn’t follow but rather used the proper lane. As I told him later, I’ll follow him but not into Hell or any other place where I don’t think I want to be. Fortunately there was no traffic so no problem.

We were early for lunch but decided to stop and eat anyway. Not a chance. Every restaurant we saw was full and had a wait line. Sooo. Someone suggested we head out a grab a bite to eat at Manning park. Okay with me, I haven’t been through there for years so don’t have a clue as to what services are available so I’m in agreement. Off we went, this time with me in the lead. Those guys are always so slow about getting on the road that I run out of patience so usually take off and let them catch up.

By the time we made the turn off to Highway three they were dutifully following behind. Mind you I had kept the speed down enough for them to easily catch me (didn’t want anyone heading up the Coquahalla by mistake.) Once we were nicely on our way I dropped back and let someone else lead. It turned out to be Ken once again and before long, he and Don were disappearing in the distance only to be seen whenever there was a fairly long straight stretch of highway. Doug was content to stay back of me and for me I’m content to limit my speed to ten to fifteen over posted. I’m out to enjoy the ride and usually in no hurry to see it end soon.

Manning park: I don’t recall having ever been there before and it’s a good chance I had never stopped on prior trips through (many years back). The Lodge is nice. I even managed to get a picture or two of it, which is a surprise as I gather that stopping for photo opportunities was not something factored into the schedule. I had envisioned this as a nice leisurely trip with ample opportunity to get some great snapshots. Goes to show what I know.

Lunch didn’t happen at the lodge either. Apparently there was only one girl to wait on tables and there was a line up as well. In the fifteen minutes we stood around, not a single morsel of food came out of the kitchen. Had me wondering if she was doing the cooking too.

Off to Princeton. We decided to settle for lunch in Princeton. Doug spotted a Subway right off. He appears to like the Subways. Personally I can’t abide them but if they want to eat at Subway I can choke it down if I have to. He bailed off his bike and headed right in, must have been some hungry I guess. Before I had finished stowing all my gear he was back to tell us that they had a line-up 30 deep so we left our bikes there in the shade and walked across the highway to a sit down restaurant and found it to be a lot less hectic.

By this time the day was getting major warm and I was riding with leather chaps and heavy leather jacket. I don’t ride without either the chaps or the jacket so it was a case of bear it. I’m kind of attached to my skin and I know from experience that the leather slides much better on pavement then bare arms do so when I’m on the highway, the leather stays, heat be damned.

Keremos was major warm but when we reached Osoyoos we were well under the influence of a heavy duty smoke cloud that choked up your throat but at least it blocked the sun and dropped the temperature by a few degrees. Never thought I’d be glad to see smoke.

We gassed up at Osoyoos. Doug claimed there was only one service station at Midway and it didn’t open till 10:00 am he said. He might have been right however I pointed out to him (once we had arrived in Midway) that the service station happened to be open and we might have fuelled up Saturday night with no problems. I guess no one thought of it at the time and I was not the least bit familiar with Midway. Of course once you see it you soon realize that there is nothing memorable about the place. I do like the surrounding terrain however and did manage to get a few pictures of the hills if little else.

We made destination by about 5:30 and I doubt there’s much to do around Midway but sit around and have a drink or two and visit so after a meal in the local café (attached to the motel) we did just that. There was another biker couple pulled in and snagged a room just down from us so we had the opportunity to chew the fat with them as well. They were from Pincher Creek and had left from there that morning. He claimed to have almost hit a moose. It had been so close according to him that the moose had urinated all over his bike and chaps. It made a good story at any rate and I didn’t bother to check it out. His word was good enough for me.


Not much to it is there?. I guess there is more but we didn't feel the urge to explore.


To someone from the forested area, this type of scenery is rather interesting. Looks like rattlesnake country to me.


Not sure how well it will show up but maybe you can see the dense smoke in the distance. This is only a small sample of what it was like at Osoyoos. At least we were out of it at Midway.

When Doug had agreed to come along with us he indicated that we would have to leave early (7:00 am) for the return trip. He lives on Maine Island and the ferry connection for him was 2:45 pm. That meant we had to be back at Tswassen by 2:30 at the latest. After checking the time up he decided that we needed to leave at 6:00 am to be sure of arriving with time to spare. He didn’t seem to believe me when I told him we had plenty of time because I knew that we would not fiddle around like we had on the trip up. We had wasted better than an hour stopping for lunch that never happened but he fretted about it so I agreed that if it would make him feel more secure, we could even leave at 5:00 am. I have no trouble to get up and go. In fact I prefer to travel early as there is much less traffic and the day is cooler so the bike runs ever so much better. I also told him he could set the pace so that if we didn’t make it, the fault would be his, not mine. As it happens, that didn’t quite work out.

We said our goodbyes Saturday night and 6:00 saw me pushing my bike away from the motel before starting it. That thing is loud and I didn’t want to wake the entire place until I was looking at a clear shot out to the highway. Aren’t I a considerate old guy?

So down the road we went, Doug leading, me following. This lasted all the way to Osoyoos where we stopped to grab some breakfast at a Smittys that was right along the highway. Let me tell you that was a refreshing piece of road, no traffic, clear highway and looooooow temperatures. Refreshing in more ways than one.

It was also time for a change in plan. I suggested that I would lead for the remaining part of the way along highway 3. Here’s ,my reason. It was the absolute pits following Doug. His leading totally sucked. I know he has been riding only a year or so but he has followed us a number of times and he often rides with a group of others and he talks as if he knows the ropes.

His speed constantly varies from the speed limit to 30 km under. No kidding. I would just get up to speed and then have to hit the brakes to keep from running over him. Every time we came to a left hand curve he bled off 30 km. His right turns weren’t quite as bad. On those he only dropped 20 km. Even on the straight stretches he seldom made the speed limit and if he did he would immediately slow down. The moment he saw anything in his side vision he was off the throttle. I could not take it and I knew we had those delicious twisty sections not far ahead.

As it worked out I had a great ride through the tight corners. With Doug behind me, he held back the few cars that came along so I had no one on my back. Only a single Harley rider got through and I let him past because I was also limited in my speed by watching to see that Doug had made it around the last curve before I entered the next one. We met the Harley rider at manning Lodge. He was riding a 1200 Sportster and heavy loaded. It appeared he was going for along trip but we didn’t ask.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful except for one part along the busy number one where Doug took the lead again. Everyone was passing us until finally he cranked on some throttle and before you know it we were passing every body, which was a complete change of pace. Unfortunately it didn’t last for more then a few kilometres. Later Doug bragged to me that he had pushed it up to 130 for a bit, rather proud that he had I guess. I didn’t bother to ask him what the point of it all had been because every single car or truck we passed at that time, passed us later when he slowed back down, even the guy pulling the boat behind a rusty beat up pickup truck. As it was I could have made the 1:00 ferry but I stuck around with him and took the 2:00 boat instead.

I hope I never seem to others as lame as that when I’m in the lead. I know I tend to travel slower than many (usually limit myself to 10/15 over the limit) however I make a point of trying to maintain a constant speed because I absolutely hate that porpoising up and down on a busy highway.

It feels good to be home as usual but already I’m missing the road. License and insurance on the Harley runs out Sept 16 so gotta get some more decent rides in though it’s not like I’ll be unable to ride as my 650xs is licensed for the entire year. It’s not all that great for long highway trips as the vibration at speeds over 90 km gets annoying. The next thing on my purchase agenda is to replace the chain and sprockets on the 650xs with a set that gives a more satisfactory gearing. As it stands now, I can run through the gears and be in top gear at 50 km. I think the motor is turning 3 thousand rpm at about 70 km and about 5500 at 110. Methinks it would be much more relaxing to ride if I could shave a thousand rpm off that.

Anyhow that’s about it for the ride to Midway. Blues, if you read this, you were absolutely correct about the fabulous road. It was much better then I remembered it though my brain has difficulty to recall back that far. And the best part was traveling early before the traffic got heavy and having Doug behind me to keep the aggressive cagers off my backside made it even better.