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My writeup is finally done so I'm posting it here! This is all copy/paste from my blog.



I'm under the assumption you folks want a day by day so here we go.

Alaska day one and two

Itinerary posted, the bike loaded, goodbyes said, I began my journey northward by heading south to hit superb twisty roads Idaho contains: Highway 12 to Lolo, Montana, a great stretch of pavement to set the tone of the trip.



After the tarmac bliss that is Lolo Pass, I came across a flock of cruiser riders. To thoroughly confuse them, I draped my feet over my poor-man’s highway pegs so it looks as if I’m riding some kind of standard/cruiser hybrid. After seeing some of their faces in my mirrors, I wildly succeeded.


Speaking of cruiser riders, some brand-loyal riders provided entertainment throughout the day by screwing up their faces in concentration on the perfect, obstruction-free road in front of them, ignoring my waves.

Arriving at Glacier National Park, I bomb around the roads there, get tired of the tourists and find a campground on a map that looked sufficiently “out there” on a gravel road and head in that direction. A bunch of photos later, I arrived and attempt to make a fire.

This, too, sets the tone of the trip: without dry wood, lots of kindling, a full newspaper and a box of dry matches, I may get a tiny flame going but no campfire. And then the flame would die out.

Forced to write in my journal by headlamp, I pondered the caricature of other motorcyclists: the brief glance into the lives of other riders as you speed past each other. Wives doing nothing but staring into the distance. Riders scowling, not grinning, despite perfect conditions. Smiling folks off to meet the nicest people. These thoughts swam around my head as I went to sleep.

Day two



After waking and retrieving my sidecase of food from the bearproof storage container, I found the tool that would have made fire making much easier: my fire steel. It was hiding in my bag of food.

Breakfast was made with my can stove, which worked wonderfully.



Packing up and rolling out, I passed the border crossing without incident and started making my way north on Alberta 2 (AB 2).

Stopping at a visitor’s center, I get a great welcome, lots of information and plenty of advice on my trip through Canada to Alaska. I was given one of the few copies of a book they had left they said rivaled the Milepost for information. If only I knew how many maps I’d get on my way north, I would have politely declined instead of giving the book to a fellow motorcyclist on the way to Alaska.


Making it to Calgary and finding the campground, I rushed back to town with an unloaded bike to meet some fine folks from a motorcycle forum I frequent. It was was wonderful to put faces to names!



A meal of water and a burger later, it was getting dark and I had to get back to camp. Our motorcycle group relinquished the patio and parted ways. Falling asleep in the overcrowded campground without a campfire, I eagerly awaited the next few days of traveling in Canada.

And now, for shots of the group!

Mike and his girl!








Don’t worry, they weren’t riding.

And the whole crew!

Day three

Unable to find the eatery recommended by a gas station attendant, I settled for a Subway to get my morning meal out of the way and some of the cold out of my bones. The store, tucked away in Canmore, AB, had a great view of the mountains. The mountains I’d be heading for as soon as I finished the sandwich.

The poor sub didn’t stand a chance.

Blasting into Banff, I was disappointed at the requirement to pay to get in. Thankfully, my winking must have worked since I was waved on through!

To balance out my free entry, it was incredibly cold and foggy. So much for seeing beautiful Banff.

Crossing an item off my mental list, I popped into a Tim Horton’s in Revelstoke, BC. The place was slammed by customers! Happy to get a cinnamon roll, I scarf it down, fuel up and head out to Kamloops.

Arriving, I find a hotel and get floored by the price: $199 for one night! I hemmed and hawed and got the price knocked down to $129, which was more palatable. Using the hotel’s WiFi I got in touch with family and friends, hopefully assuaging my girlfriend from worrying about me for a few more days.

Plans made for picking up a prepaid phone at Future Shop, I uploaded some pictures and went to sleep after cursing my Roadcrafter’s zipper that fell apart.

Day four

Snapping the zipper back on to my riding suit, I see a small piece of metal on the pull was the issue - too much wear. It held together fine after clamping it down with my pliers, so I loaded up, paid and left to find Future Shop.

Two blocks later I arrived and had to wait for them to open. In the States, the dang place would be open at 8 AM sharp, none of this 10 AM business! To kill time, I checked another box on the list and wandered around a Canadian Tire.

List properly checked and Future Shop open, a beautiful lady named Stephanie helped the poor helpless motorcyclist get a phone, set it up and test it works. She went the extra mile and was great to talk to.

Scooting down the road a few hundred miles I start running out of daylight and energy, so I pull into Southpark RV Park/Campground. Here I discover my debit card has been flagged for suspicious activity, but had cash on me to take care of the night’s stay.

My camping space:



The owners of the place were great: the place was one of the cleanest I stayed at during the trip and they let me use their phone to call the 800 number on the back of my card to get it turned back on. After 45 minutes on hold.

Taking advantage of the facilities, I washed some of my clothes in the bathroom sink since I’m far too cheap to pay up for a washing machine. Hanging the wet clothes on my tent, I congratulated myself on achieving “road bum” status and went to sleep.

Day five

Waking up and taking care of my locked-down debit card, I got directions to the Prince George public library and waited for them to open at 10 AM. Their wireless, while unsecured, required an access code to use. It was hard to beat the view while waiting. Water fountains across the plaza and morning mist resting on the hills, I prepped my photos for uploading.



Business complete at the library, the Hornet and I make good time to lunch
in Vanderhoof, BC. As I scarf down some Chinese food, I notice the bike is starting to look well traveled: all surfaces coated in bugs and dirt, complete with a moth jammed awkwardly in the headlight bezel.

Before leaving Vanderhoof, I fill up my spare fuel jerry can for the first time. Wary about how carrying so much weight up high on the bike would affect its handling, I carefully mosey out of the gas station and get down the road. Sure enough, the bike handles strangely but after a few miles I get used to it.

Many miles later I stop at the junction of 37 and 16 for food and fuel. The food was cod and chips, which tasted flat-out, knock-down incredible. It may have been from my body not accepting miles instead of sustenance, but it still felt as if I was eating pure manna.



Getting advice from locals, I backtrack to a provincial park and enjoy my time there. Struggling to get a campfire going before dark, I smoke a nice cigar, update my journal and write a bit on my computer.



Day six

I’ll skip writing about day six again and just copy/paste my blog entry about my day in Hyder, AK. So, either skip ahead to the next page or read this:

Stayed at a provincial park – Seele Lake or something. Eventually got a real fire going. Right near the water, view of the mountain, privacy and close to the can. What else could you want?

I rolled out decently early in the morning, past the gas station/restaurant combo at the highway junction. I passed through a small town and gassed up, then made my way to Hyder, Alaska through Stewart, BC. Planning to see what was in Hyder, or more accurately hoping for a gas station, I park next to the first motorcycles I see. This was to set the tone of the rest of the day.

(Rewinding, here I am at a glacier before reaching Hyder


Being greeted with an arm-waving, older guy with a serious Austrian or German accent telling me I couldn’t park there was not what I expected. So I tackled it like most things this trip: do it anyways! After I dismounted the bike, I hear the arm-waver speaking German to a couple next to him and the other obvious motorcycle rider. I hear comments involving “he” and “stupid” and “can’t park here.” I let loose with a quick phrase of “I understand what you are saying” in German to knock the poor guy off balance within seconds of meeting me.

Then he warms up to me a bit while poor Pat is confused by the foreign language. The German couple talk with me a little bit and rapidly exhaust my rusty German skills. On the bright side they know my name and where I came from!



Being extended an offer to throw my schedule away in a crying ball, I accept the arm-waver’s offer of joining them to look at a glacier past where most tourists are. It was so good he went there yesterday and is going back again! Of course I say yes and we embark for supplies at the local grocer.



Keep in mind I usually skip breakfast in the mornings – the first 50 or 100 miles before food are undoubtedly the best of the day. So when I say I am hungry after those 50 or 100 miles, I mean it. Then tack on another 140 to get to Hyder and I was hungry enough to eat anything. ANYTHING.

I get some information out of the KTM rider, Pat. He’s a special ed teacher in California and is currently on summer break. A laid-back guy who can ride well. I’d love to hang out with him if I see him on the road again.

Food acquired, I am convinced to drop my bags and extra crap off my bike at my new digs at Border Bandit. While loading the junk off my bike into my room with Jose, the owner came through the entrance and told us to keep the outside door shut, as bears wandered in at night. Later in the day I had to remind Mr. Santos to keep the door shut because he was “letting all the bears in.”



Bikes lightened and food packed, our motley crew of Jose, Pat, the German couple and I all head off to one of the very few roads out of town. Making decent time, I get some practice in gravel and sucking dust from the people in front. I’m not a fast rider and am even slower on loose gravel on a street bike.

Mr. Santos realizes he has to write some post cards so he says he’ll catch up with us. I relay this info to Pat as we continue down the gravel road, so we don’t stop for another 25 miles. Of course, I stop much sooner, as my bike falls on its face going up a corner. I quickly switch to reserve and the bike wakes back up, then my low fuel idiot light goes on. Seriously Honda, WTF? At our stop we wait for Jose and I drop in the contents of my jerry can. We are all gathered then proceed to the next stop, a tunnel in the side of the mountain.

We weren’t sure what the tunnel was for but it was nice and cold inside. A light at the other end was barely visible – Mr. Santos said he walked towards it once for 30 minutes and it didn’t get any bigger. Crazy!

Next stop was a glacier kind of off the beaten path. Down a terrible gravel road over some more rough roads, we get out and start climbing down the hill towards the bottom of the glacier. It took us a while to get there but the view was worth it. You could look up, when halfway down, and see the water coming down into the lake below, then see the glacier and its inexorable path into the water.

Mr. Santos:


We could get right next to the glacier, but it was very cold and windy so we climbed to a sheltered spot with a view and ate lunch there. The German couple told us some stories about getting drunk in the evenings and climbing into the mountains in the summer, then finding a cabin and getting the resident to make the group breakfast.

Yours truly:


Jose had some weird horse/cow beef jerky he shared. Not bad, but not great.

The couple, in true German fashion, brought a six pack of beer of which we riders couldn’t partake.



One thing I keep writing about is the scale of things out here. I used to think the midwest had some seriously different scales than the west coast, but both pale in comparison to Alaska. Mountains are bigger and farther away, rivers larger and glaciers mind-bendingly huge.

After the glacier we said our goodbyes to the couple and continued to the end of the road where we road across a bridge that was comprised of two three foot wide planks. Scary to ride across but exhilarating. The bike fit quite easily without the side cases!



More shennanigans ensued, then we returned to the hotel where Jose did his “homework” and we yelled out the window at a rider going by. We got they would be at the bar later and so would we!

Negotiating for how to get to the bar ensued. Pat said we would ride down there – no helmet law in Alaska! I strongly declined and Jose offered a ride on the back of his bike. Again I refused to be a drunk passenger on the back of a bike with a drunk rider. Sticking to my guns, Jose and I ended up walking to the bar while Pat griped about me being a representative of The Man. This was due to citing my dislike of having my ability to teach being taken away by riding without a skid lid.

A short, bear-free walk to the bar later and Hyderization!

I got Hyderized: a shot of a mystery liquor they put in front of you that you can’t smell, touch or taste until you take the shot. Fearing a poor quality Everclear, I work myself up to it and knock it back. It tasted far better than some things I’ve tried in my earlier college years! After completing the “challenge” you get a card showing you were Hyderized.

Hyderizer card acquired, I order their only beer on tap: Alaskan Amber, of course. After I picked up the tab for the Hyderizer, my beer and a beer for my friend Mr. Santos, we find the rider we yelled at earlier and engage him in conversation.

That means Jose bullshitted him like it was going out of style.

Later in my trip, the two other riders, Dale and Doug, were pretty sure Jose didn’t feed them a straight line the entire night. I informed them they were 100% correct.

Outside the bar:


After the bar we had an uneventful walk back to the hotel and went to sleep. The next morning Jose got up and was packing his bike by 6 AM. While he was packing I took a shower. Instead of using my shampoo I used the hotel-style shampoo dispenser in the shower. I knew I was in Alaska when a dead mosquito came out with my shampoo and I ran it through my hair anyways.

Epilogue:

Jose Santos – really named Josef. Not from South France but Germany! Always bullshitting and high-energy, he doesn’t take much seriously but rides like hell and loves getting off the beaten path like that bridge comprised of a couple 3′ wide segments. Funny guy who has a cool collection of laminated 4”x6” cards that trace his various trips through North America. In one trip he hit the 49 land-accessible states and got a stamp in his journal from a post office in each state. Very impressive.

The next morning:

Day seven

The day started with my debit card being frozen again. Hooray. A call with my cell cleared it up and my plan from then on was to get cash from ATMs so I could travel several days without having to deal with this "poo poo".



I made my way to a campground outside of Carmacks, YT. A territorial park called Twin Lakes offered a place to place my tent and all the firewood I could use for $12 Canadian a night. Thankfully they threw in the mosquitoes for free, since there were flocks of them around my campsite.



Borrowing a hatchet from a fellow camper, I split a bunch of wood and had a wonderful cigar and camp fire.

The sign at the water pump meant I was going to be dry camping, due to my fuel situation:



As the fire was burning and the sun setting, a park ranger stopped by and we conversed at length. I’m normally introverted with a fiery passion, but this trip has really made me an extrovert: I loved talking with the different folks I met on the road! Pete, the transplanted Brit park ranger, was glad to chat with me about a variety of topics, including why on earth he moved from the UK to the Yukon Territories.

After Pete had to move on to the other campgrounds, I took a few long exposure shots of the lake from the shore.



Day eight

Good morning! Up early, I broke my fast with tea and rehydrated eggs and bacon. Man, those were tasty. After looking at the nutritional facts, I found out why: there was going to be a salt flat in my stomach. Ah well.

Continuing north on the highway, I moved on to the Klondike Highway, axing my original plans of taking the Campbell Highway in interest of time.

Before leaving the Cassiar, I reflected on how it was without a doubt the prettiest road I’ve ever had the pleasure to use. Mountains, lakes, streams, rivers, low traffic, wildlife and more. However, all that didn’t come without a price called frost heaves.

The road looks great, you can see forever, so you cane the bike a bit, getting into a good pothole-dodging flow then WHAM, you stuff the bike into a huge frost heave and hope everything stays on the bike. Better yet is when you are certain both tires left terra firma at some point in time.

The Cassiar also contained my first out-fearing of a bear: an RV stopped at the crest of a blind hill to watch a bear. It was impossible to safely pass them and I realized there was nothing stopping the bear from eating my bike and its rider, so I ripped by nearing redline at full bore.

I also got into a routine in these campgrounds without bear-proof food storage: I’d load all my smelly stuff and food into a side case and put it in the back of a bear-proof garbage container. The garbage bags kept the nasty stuff off my side case and everything was hunky-dory.

Day nine

Waking up at first light, I promptly decide that was a stupid decision and went back to sleep.

Waking again at 7 AM, I’m way ahead of schedule so I contemplate taking a side trip to Mayo or stay longer in Dawson City.

Before that, though, I had a pressing matter of running low on fuel for my can stove. The downside with the alcohol stove over the usual MSR stoves are they burn through fuel quickly. Thankfully you can get fuel at any gas station, and in a pinch it will burn your drinking alcohol.

That would have to be a big pinch.

Moving ever northwards I encounter my first bout of serious rain on the trip. The weather lulled me into a false sense of security by not raining until I was back on pavement. The wet road coincided with a lot of construction that made me really work at keeping the bike upright. Front tire plowing around on top of the road surface, flopping around whenever it hit a bump or hole that comprised most of the road.

Rolling into Dawson City with the rain still pouring down, I punt and get a hotel. Once my bike is unloaded the rain stops. Of course. Thankfully the bed felt amazing after camping so much.

I was the only street bike in town. Maybe those adventure bike riders know something I don’t.



Day ten

Checking out, I got the weather forecast from the front desk. The Dempster Highway was supposed to receive rain that day, rain the next and snow the day after. I decided to hem and haw a day and bum around the area, seeing the sights.

Starting with the “scenic road” up to the Midnight Dome, I went into the peasoup fog and waited at the top for some of it to burn off. I was rewarded with a couple of nice photos but nothing like I should have had if the weather was decent.





My German-dar went off as a rental motorhome grunted its way to the top. A father and son on a trip, starting in Whitehorse.

Heading back out of town, I went to some of the scenic markers on the road.



I followed one to a gold panning and mine tour operation, going through a construction site with the worst conditions I had encountered yet on the trip. Front and rear wheels weren’t communicating but I made it through fully loaded and upright.



Shooting the breeze with one of the owner’s sons, Justin, I learned a lot about life up north and what they do in winter. I also talked to a family touring Canada from India. Chatting about my motorcycle with the Indian son was nice - I was still enjoying the weather and being off the bike for a while.

Returning to town, the mud in the construction area had dried out so it went without a hitch. I popped into the visitor’s center and asked what else I could see in the area. Jeanet offered a lot of advice and she recommended the paddleboat graveyard.

Jeanet:



I hopped on the ferry across the river:



I found the little-known trail to the graveyard and bombed around the woods with boats dropped in it.









I went back to town and popped into Diamond Tooth Gertie’s for food and call my folks, since my cell wasn’t working. While eating, I noticed all the lady servers and bartenders were wearing corsets. It was as if I died and went to man heaven.

Having to burn a few hours until the first show, I shot the breeze with one of the dealers, Kevin. When he was relieved by another dealer, my German-dar went off: his replacement was a lady from Germany who packed up and moved to Dawson City. It was great talking with her a bit, but she rapidly exhausted my meager command of the German language.



After the show, I set up camp at the territorial park on the Top of the World Highway, a quarter mile from the west landing of the ferry. My fire starting attempts were hampered by the wood soaked from the last few days of rain. I spent my time alternating between smoking my cigar and blowing on the sad embers. I went to sleep with my campfire needs unfulfilled.

Day eleven

I started the day packing camp and going back across the river to acquire Kicking Horse coffee and a freshly baked pastry. Enjoying the light Seattle-like drizzle, I walked along the river bank sipping and eating.

After my stomach was filled and my veins properly loaded with caffeine, I went across the ferry again and started my way up the Top of the World Highway.

The Highway wasn’t quite the highlight of the trip. Fog dominated the view and it was cold. And a bit wet. This prompted me to plug in my electric vest for the first time on the trip. I knew it worked since I tested it before I left, so when I plugged it in and nothing happened, I was furious. Cold and furious.



I was cold, the bike was having electrical issues and it was raining. To keep warm, I was yelling in my helmet: “So, you want a shouting match, eh Quahog? AHH! AHHHH! I’m winning!“

Arriving at the US border crossing, I get a grumpy agent. He was probably as pleased about the cold as I was, but at least the drizzling stopped. He wanted me to remove my helmet, brought my passport in to the guard station, asked me if I had more than $10,000, which I resisted saying “I wish,” if I had any weapons on me, etc…



After crossing the border the road turned from acceptable to downright ugly. We’re talking wet and muddy with downhill, off-camber turns, loose gravel and other exciting road surfaces.

All this made me quite happy to see some kind of civilization at Border, Alaska. I acquired some coffee and warmth from the store/cabin fireplace. I didn’t receive a real warm welcome by the husband who runs the place, but his wife was amiable enough.







Later down the road, hunters with ATVs and trailers populated the shoulders, narrowing some parts to a single lane.

I passed a solar powered vehicle along the way, with its support crew. Here’s a shot as I passed it:



Once past the hunters with ATVs, sweet, sweet pavement began again and the Hornet was back in its element.

Stopping at Tok, AK for fuel, I also took the time to take care of my bike’s electrical issue. I knew what it was, since it had happened once before: my positive battery cable had loosened a bit from all the gravel road jarring. I removed the burden from my bike: side cases, sleeping bag, tent and fuel can, popped the seat, removed two tools, spent 30 seconds removing one body panel, fastening the screw and replacing the body panel. All done! Thank goodness for naked bikes.



I ended up eating dinner at a place called Pizza Bella at Dalton Junction. Feeling the onset of fatigue, I planned to camp between the Junction and Fairbanks. What a good call that was.



Ending up at a campground a bit more RV oriented than I would have liked, I met up with the nicest folk: Amy and Colin. They invited me over to share their campfire and gave me a beer. Now that is what I call hospitality! They run a bed and breakfast in Healy, AK and offered me a place to stay if I ended up in that direction. I politely accepted and got their contact information.

Day twelve

My warm sleeping bag felt so good I slept in more than usual.

Moving on through Eielson Air Force Base, I had a fighter jet zip overhead. The speed and sleekness of the aircraft brought a big smile to my face.

Taking a break from the road, I find the source of pain on my left hand was from a blister I received cutting firewood breaking open. I did a road repair: a napkin wrapped in duct tape.

Clutch hand patched back together, I get breakfast at the Country Cafe in North Pole, AK. Getting fed up with my Roadcrafter zipper that finally self-destructed, I rolled by a hardware store and whipped up a McGuyver repair that held for the rest of the trip. In fact, as of September 26th, 2008, I haven’t called Aerostich to get a zipper repair kit yet.

Back on the road, I perfected my Alaska road strategy: go five to ten MPH over the posted limit and wait for a local to pass by. Then, let them get a mile down the road and use them as a rabbit.

This technique allowed me to make some serious miles: I stopped for dinner at Yukon River. After eating I learned a valuable lesson: feed the bike first, yourself second. I was low on fuel and the guy in front of my just bought the last gas there! Thankfully, a couple guys heading north for business, Doug and Steve, had spare gas and let me fill my tank. Thanks guys!



I continued north, aiming for Wiseman that evening. The miles ticked by significantly slower on the Dalton and I ran out of steam near a rest stop. Taking advantage of the area off the road, I made camp overlooking a lake, cursing the cold wind as my tent fought me every step of the way.



Finally, with my sleeping bag rolled out and bike barely unloaded, I got some fitful sleep in the howling wind.

Day thirteen

Waking from a very poor sleep where the wind slapped the tent on my head and feet, I tore down camp in the wind and cold. I guess it was still early, since when I rolled in to Wiseman and pounded on the office doors to Boreal Cabins, I woke the owner. After securing a room, I explained my plan and received the OK to drop off most of my cases and stuff. With a vastly lightened bike, I set north to Deadhorse, Alaska!

Okay, it got cold. In a hurry. Up Atigun Pass, enjoying the good but cold weather, I ran low on fuel going up another hill. Seeing a truck behind me coming up the grade, I reached down to flip my fuel to reserve and found my hand was so cold, I didn’t have the strength in my hand to get my precious last few gallons. Hoping I could get up the hill before the semi caught up, the bike lugged and sputtered up, finally making it to the top.



At the top, I got off the bike and jumped around a lot to warm up my body. I finally got enough strength to open my top case where disaster greeted me: the miles on the rough road had rattled apart my bottle of Southern Comfort, emptying most of it on the bottom of the case, it unscrewed my tripod in joints I didn’t know came apart, my can stove popped out from its safe space in my mug and got pounded to death by my travel humidor, which had its handle mangled, my sunscreen opened and emptied itself and my camera was rattled about, rubbing through parts of its case.

Pulling the wiring for my electric gloves out from the Soco/sunscreen mixture, I wasn’t happy. And it was still cold.



I wiped them down real well and turned on my gloves, letting wonderful heat flow into my poor hands. I could turn the fuel valve again!

This allowed the next hundred or so miles to pass without incident, until about 40 miles south of Deadhorse: a cold fog covered the horizon. Once inside the fog, visibility dropped and the moisture fogged up the outside and inside of my dirty visor, making it almost impossible to see with the visor down. Weighing the risks, I decided to ride with my visor up so I could see. The wind gusts with occasional rain drops made it felt like someone was stabbing my face with an ice pick, but at least I could see the road surface and ride around the worst bits.

After 40 miles of the worst riding conditions I’ve ever experienced, mud with potholes with gusty wind, rain, fog and calcium-chloride spraying construction, I made it to Deadhorse. Cold and tired, I filled up the bike, took my picture next to the quintessential Deadhorse sign and went back out of town, heading south.





Thankfully, my fears of the fog heading south and making more than 40 miles of the highway miserable were unfounded. The fog cleared and I only had to deal with cold on the way south.

Refueling on the way back south:



A picture of the Dalton:



Animals on the tundra:



The thought of a victory cigar waiting for me back in Wiseman kept my spirits high, but I found I was far too tired to smoke when I got back. I went into my room and a thought occurred: I hadn’t had anything to drink or eat all day. Sadly, my food supplies were low so I ended up scarfing down some ancient beef jerky and slammed back as much water as I could. Then, I took a shower with my top case to wash it out and went to sleep.

Day fourteen

Looking at the clock as I woke up, I panicked: I only had fifteen minutes to pack and check out! After waking up fully, I realized I hadn’t set my clocks forward for the time zone change. Phew, plenty of time!

Packed up and headin’ south, I ate at Coldfoot and received mad props from folks who learned where I was coming back from.

Going back to the bookstore with free WiFi in Fairbanks, I uploaded a bunch of photos and posted on my blog, then ate dinner at a pizza joint. While eating, the heavens opened up and poured rain. Punting, I stayed at a state park in the town of Fairbanks. As rain cleaned my bike, I called friends and family on my now-working Verizon phone and went to sleep.

Drifting off, I was miffed the rain was washing off all the dirt and grime my Hornet acquired on the Dalton.

Day fifteen

Putting away a wet tent sucks - dirt sticks to everything and attempts to brush it off only leave you with a wet, dirty tent and wet, dirty hands.

On the way out of town, I tried visiting an old mining down of Ester, but didn’t find much on my backroads exploration. The area wasn’t putting off the most relaxing vibes, so I went down the road.



Continuing to Healy, Alaska, I stopped at a cafe and ate some chow. Writing in my journal as the food was being prepared, I reflected the high point of the end of my trip: not having to listen to country music. Ugh. Food consumed and Amy contacted, I received directions to their place.

Walking out to my bike, a dog was following me around my bike and another tourist asks if it was mine. I said it was tough to carry it in the top case, it kept wanting to eat and breathe.

This same tourist was telling me horror stories about the Top of the World Highway: trailer axles breaking, moose attacks, etc… I said I saw hardly any wildlife and escaped the moose attacks without a problem.

Hitting the B&B, I unpacked my wet gear while waiting for the owners to return. Thankfully my EeePC had a full battery and they had unsecured wireless, so I entertained myself and fired off some emails.



When Amy and crew arrived, I helped unload their vehicle with B&B supplies (Abel, if you’re reading this, I know I only brought in a couple items but shh, the readers don’t have to know that!).

Amy and Colin took me in like family - they were friendly and hospitable, feeding me dinner and beer! The best kind is free, after all.

After dinner, I mentioned it was too bad I was so close to Denali but couldn’t visit the park this trip due to time constraints.

Fifteen minutes later we were all shoved into their Subaru wagon and going to the park. Hooray, I can cross that off my list now!

Day sixteen

The next day started with a great home-made breakfast: crepe-like pastry/pancake items I promptly forgot the name to. Delicious and slathered with butter, just what a road-bound motorcyclist needs.

My awesome hosts:


The day was uneventful as I made great time back through Fairbanks and down to Tok, crossing into Canada in the dark rain.

I stopped a little bit in Whitehorse to take photos of the transportation museum.





Taking my chances with a wet territorial park, I wave goodbye to the fellow Washingtonian riders behind me and set up camp.

That night would be lots of fun: after getting camp set up I met a group of Europeans over on a “before-30-years-old” trip! They were seeing as much of the Americas as they could and had already been on up to Deadhorse. Their English was better than my Polish and nobody, including me, spoke German so there was a bunch of pantomiming and more alcohol. I passed around my bottle of Jim Beam and let the tourists have the right proper ‘merican whiskey.

Huddling around the camp’s shelter with fireplace, we conversed and gestured until I was too tired to continue. I went back to my tent and spiraled into a drunken sleep with the rain pounding down.

Day seventeen

Sitting at Teslin Lake campground, equipped with a fine cigar, a bottle of Jim Beam and an acceptable campfire, I started my recap of the day:

Like so many of the recent days, I woke up wet. Still raining. I slept in, seeing off the three Europeans on their adventure and was the last one out of the campground. The rain continued until 2 or 3 PM. All I cared about was making miles, so I was hauling "O Ring" like donkey-carrying was going out of style. Not much to write about, just lots of throttle and fueling stops.

Day eighteen

An early and cold start saw to it my spirits were in a foul mood. Stopping at Watson Lake, the ATM physically wouldn’t take my debit card and a recommended eatery was closed because it “was Monday.” To hell with you guys, I’m cold and hungry. I’ll find somewhere else to- oh. There’s only one other place that’s open. At least they will feed me a delicious “Mexican burger,” or burger with salsa and jalapenos. God that was tasty.

Liard River Hot Springs being my destination, the miles melted off until I make it and shell out the entrance fee to the park and hot springs. Of course the upper pool was closed “due to bears.”

The Hot Springs park was the crowdiest and biggest park I had been to yet on the trip, but the hot springs felt so good after eighteen days on the road I didn’t care one lick. It was also great to use my swimming suit after hauling it over 6,000 miles on this trip.

My soak and socialization over, I returned to camp where my frugality prevented me from paying for bloody water so I boiled some up from the well pump and called it good.

Writing in my journal as the water boiled, I kept reflecting on the road conditions and signs. Whenever I see a “CAUTION: LOOSE GRAVEL” sign followed by a “REDUCE SPEED” one, I go all TTGL and shout in my helmet “I’ve done the Dalton, WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?!”

That evening I received my $5 Canadian of firefood, which was way more than I expected and came with kindling.

I had a great campfire and cigar to go with it. What a great day.

Day nineteen

Sadly, there’s not much to write about here. It was a long day, over 550 miles covered, most of it in the rain. I also got to experience over an hour of construction delays and some bloody cold weather. You know it’s cold when the flagger has abandoned his post to stay warm inside his personal vehicle, leaving you no indication if you should stop or continue until you’re on the poor sod.



The day wrapped up at slidebite’s place in Grande Praire. I showed up quite late in the evening and my gracious host fed me and let me use his internet connection.

For all the joys of motorcycling, there are also very low point. Before meeting slidebite in Alberta, the day wasn’t looking very fun. I was cold, my hands were wet, there were lots of miles to cover with daylight failing, dealing with foreign cities in the dark rain with no reflective strips to guide the lanes and plenty of red light cameras. Miserable stuff.

My poor camera was soaked in my tank bag and the lens was getting foggy. Here’s my bike next to my bud’s Honda ST1100 in his garage:



Day twenty

Immediately after leaving, it started raining again. Slidebite thanked me for ending a multi-month drought.

I didn’t find that humorous.

The cold started getting to me again as I went through Hinton, Alberta. The lead for my electric gloves was under my seat and I was in no hurry to unload and reload my bike just so my hand wouldn’t get frostbite. I kept my left hand warm but holding it against the cylinder head, but my right hand, confined to the throttle, was on its own.

Taking a break at a restaurant, my riding suit blessed me with “Stich-crotch” for the second time ever. Water can pool up on the zipper at the crotch and leak through, making it look like you’re in too much of a hurry to get off the bike to urinate. Lovely. I made my exit after eating with the suit held in front of me hopefully blocking my shame.

My gloves weren’t happy with the constant moisture: they started bleeding onto my hands, lightly staining them. I once again kicked myself for not hitting them with waterproofing before leaving for the trip.

Continuing on, the temperatures started getting warmer the further south I went.

In Blue Water, BC, I saw a familiar sign: Mike Weigle helicopter skiing. I have one of their sweatshirts from my dad, who helped them with some of their training.

After firing off my postcard at the post office, I went south to Clearwater, BC and stayed at the KOA, at which I could thankfully have a campfire.

My neighbors at the KOA were also down from Grande Praire. We hit it off well and hung out for the evening, sharing booze and stories. It was a great way to spend the evening.