The Last Day

After crossing a continent, crossing the rest of Pennsylvania was like blinking. I really thought that it was going to take a lot longer than it did, but apparently Pennsylvania has joined most of the rest of the country in eliminating speeding tickets. I really can't imagine doing the speeds I did across Pennsylvania anytime in the past. Years ago, I saw the two cars I was chasing get pulled over for doing about 85 mph; on this trip, I saw trucks pushing 100 regularly. It worked for my benefit, however, and I was able to blast across the state very, very quickly.

Once I reached the Delaware Water Gap, everything changed. It seemed like in the space of 10 miles the volume of cars on the road tripled and all the normal traffic rules were gone. The speeds were roughly the same, but the left lane was no longer the "fast" or "passing" lane, and simple ideas like the two-second rule were completely abandoned.

Yes, we're getting close to NYC now, I thought.

The ride across NJ was superfast. As a kid, I used to drive across NJ with my folks on our way to our summer place in the Poconos, and it always seemed so long. I guess that impression has remained with me, since I was expecting a much longer ride across the state. Anyway, within what seemed like mere minutes, I was hopping on 280 towards the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic continued to pile up, the air got thicker and actually acquired a texture, and I began to notice that the roads around NYC are greasy. It is as if the roads have been sprayed with a thin layer of Pam cooking spray or something. More than once my rear tire slipped just a bit in turns that weren't very dramatic and certainly didn't approach the kinds of turns I'd felt like I was "riding on rails" going through on the rest of the trip.

Ahh, gotta love NYC.

By the time I got about a half a mile from the Lincoln Tunnel, it was as if total traffic anarchy was the new rule. I've ridden all over NYC for years and years, but even this surprised me. I just didn't remember it being so bad! By the time I got to the toll booth, it was as if we were a steady stream of hot, dirty, doomed souls about to cross the river Styx into the fetid Underworld. The stifling ride through the tunnel nearly took my breath away - literally. This is AIR?!? I thought. How the FUCK do people breath this shit every day?!? How the fuck did I breathe this shit every day?!?

Then, up in the distance (past Charon and Cerebus), I saw a little bit of natural light streaming unto the roadway. Thoroughly filtered by pollution and collective angst, the light was wan but still a beacon. Finally, I drove those last few feet and saw the sky of Midtown Manhattan before me.

New York Fucking City, I waxed for a moment before jamming on the brakes and swerving to avoid a cab that had just stopped short in front of me.

Yes, I'm home. The realization nearly made me weep. I'm not sure if it was thankfulness, exhaustion, or disgust - probably a combination, really. While NYC may be a stinking, miserable pit of despair, it is home.

I blasted through Times Square (don't ask - I had to do it), down Broadway, and across the Lower East Side on Houston Street before cutting south to the Williamsburg Bridge. The DL felt like a meth-fueled dirtbike on the NYC streets (and sidewalks for just a little way, I admit, but c'mon - that was a really bad intersection!), and I flew across the bridge, marveling at the brownish-red tint the sky had over the East River. The short ride fom the end of the bridge to my apartment was too manic to recall - I really only remember coming off the bridge and then pulling onto my street a few moments later.

As I slowly rode down my block, everything was exactly the same as when I'd left. Only I was different. Well,that's not fair -the DL got her fair share of scratches and dings, and she could proudly display the evidence of the miles she'd traveled. I guess we both could do that.

I rode the DL in front of my building, took off my helmet, and called Amy on my cell phone without even getting off the bike.

"Hello?"

"Honey," I said, "I'm home."

The Home Stretch...?

After leaving lovely Portage, Indiana, I got on Interstate 80/90, tucked in behind the DL's windshield, and screamed across the Midwest towards home. As the hours and the miles ticked by, I was making good enough time to actually stop and have a quick bite to eat around 1:00 PM at one of Ohio's many rest areas. I was still back on the road within a half an hour, and was rapidly eating up miles again.

Then the demons invaded my stomach. I'm not sure if it was the crappy rest stop food, the crappier chicken sandwich from the night before, or the constant river of caffeinated beverages I was pouring down my throat, but my stomach revolted somewhere around the middle of Ohio.

OK, no problem, I thought. So I lose a little time at a rest area - I can still totally make it back to NYC today.

Well, maybe not. No one is well served by a graphic account of my time spent visiting various rest areas on I-80, so I'll skip the gory details. Suffice to say that after making GREAT time for the first five or so hours I was on the bike, I ended up barely crossing the state line into Pennsylvania by the time the sun was setting. Frustrated that I wasn't going to make it back to NYC that day (unless I was willing to ride until well after midnight, something my stomach was strenuously objecting to), I stopped in some little town and looked for a room. After the only place in town (well, the only place that wasn't a Super 8) claimed that the pungent urine smell in their rooms was just their air conditioning, I hopped back on the DL and rode to the next town. There, I was rescued by a Microtel that was everything a biker could ask for - clean, cheap, and available for the night. I hesitate to offer endorsements here, but I have never gone wrong with those guys. I haven't stayed in more than a handful of them, but they were each a great value, super-clean, and they all have wireless internet that actually works (see? I knew it was possible!).

Once again, bright and early I was on the road pointed east towards home. The demons from the day before were properly exorcised and the DL and I were ready for the last run of the trip. Short of divine intervention, we were gonna see the NYC skyline in just a matter of hours.

Ride ON!

Road Trippin'

I stayed on Route 2 through Minnesota until I reached Wisconsin and had to make a choice about whether to head south and hook up with the interstates or stay on Route 2 through the Upper Peninsula. Well, I know I'm gonna catch plenty of shit for this, but I headed south and abandoned the northern ride.

Yeah, I know what you're saying: "Matt, how could you? Why would you choose the superslab over the road less traveled?" In a word, time. While you can make pretty decent time on Route 2, it is nothing like on I-80. Plus, every time you come to a town/village/hamlet/gas station & post office combination, the speed limit drops from 65 mph to 50, then from 50 to 40, then from 40 to 30, and sometimes even down to 15 or 20. That really slows down your progress across the country. No, I really wanted to see the Upper Peninsula, but I needed to get home even more. Besides, that area is close enough that I can see it whenever I want - a four or five day weekend would be plenty to get there and back and do some righteous riding while there. No need to rush the trip now and still not make good time - I'll head back there when the circumstances are a little better.

I ended up stopping in Solon Springs, Wisconsin for the night and planned on making it as far east of Chicago the next day as I could go. I even managed to get up and on the road long before check-out time (a rarity for me). I was making great time heading south on Route 53 towards I-94 when I started to sneeze madly. Not wanting to waste time, I pulled over and took some allergy medicine (Claritin-D). In general, I try not to take stuff like that when I'm riding, but I had taken this stuff a few times before without getting too drowsy or otherwise impaired. The stuff worked great, and my allergies seemed totally under control within a short while.

Once I hooked up with I-94, I stopped for some lunch and gas and then hit the road again. A little while after that, I started feeling pretty speedy from the pseudoephedrine in the Claritin (probably from having a Coke with lunch). However, that feeling was soon accompanied by intense drowsiness, almost like a nice, warm blanket had been placed on top of me. That was a weird combination, simultaneously feeling wired and drowsy, but it didn't last long - within a few minutes I was just sleepy. I decided that I was going to have to pull off at the next rest stop, since I was rapidly becoming too fucked up to ride safely anymore.

I am sooo glad I pulled over when I did - I was barely able to keep my eyes open anymore. I parked the bike, got off, stumbled about 20 feet to a nice grassy area, laid down flat on my back (still wearing my full riding gear, including helmet, gloves, etc), and passed out almost instantly. I was met by some of the trippiest dreams I've ever had. Beautiful, ethereal aliens descended from the heavens and lifted me off the grass, explaining to me that it was good that I had pulled over, since they were getting ready to destroy that part of the Earth in a few minutes (note: I had read something about the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy movie the day before, so at least I know where that came from!). I then flew with them through a psychedelic kaleidoscope of clouds into the sky and just kept flying, surrounded by wild colors and shapes. I was tripping.

After a little while, I awoke and opened my eyes. The clouds were flying across the sky (like in time lapse photography) and were tinged with all sorts of trippy colors. Just to be sure I was tripping, I removed my sunglasses and the clouds were still psychedelic. Satisfied that it wasn't my sunglasses causing the hallucinations (like I said, I was tripping), I put them back on and passed out again (still lying flat on my back at a rest area wearing my full riding gear). No sense getting up trying to do anything, I reasoned - might as well just ride this out, since I clearly wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

A little while after that, I woke up again and the clouds were pretty much back to normal. I sat up and noticed that there was a State Trooper parked about 50 feet away who was looking at me with some interest. Rather than have what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation with Mr. Johnny Law by staying put, I got up and stumbled over to the DL. Almost one hour had passed since I arrived at the rest area and started tripping. I finally took off my helmet, gloves, and sunglasses and sipped at my water bottle. I was still a little drowsy, but all the other weird side effects had gone away (I checked a couple of places online, and apparently hallucinations are actually one of the possible side effects of Claritin-D - I kinda wish I'd known that before starting a day of riding on it!). I shuffled over to the vending machines under the watchful eye of Mr. Law and got a Mountain Dew to help kick-start my central nervous system so I could ride some more. I needed a few more minutes, but once the Mountain Dew started working its magic, I was ready to ride again. Naturally, I was extra cautious, but thankfully the only effect the Claritin seemed to have on me after that was to keep my nose happy.

What a weird experience that was. I'm never gonna just take something like an over-the-counter allergy pill without wondering hmm, what exactly is THIS gonna do to me?

I did still make it past Chicago that day (even after tripping my balls off), and ended up stopping for the night in Portage, Indiana. Now, I understand that on a Friday night with hotel rooms being scarce, the price of a room might go up. But something is fishy when every hotel and motel starts quoting the same inflated price to you. I stopped at four different places, and they all wanted the same amount. FUCK YOU, I thought, and noticed a little independent place down the road. It was clean (well, sorta), quiet (well, once the couple upstairs got tired), and they even offered remote controls for the TVs in some of the rooms (alas, I wasn't in one of those, but there were only about 5 channels anyway).

The clerk at the front desk recommended a place a couple of hundred yards down the road for some late dinner. When I walked in, I saw that it had two sections: a restaurant to the right and a bar/nightclub to the left. I ordered a sandwich and sat down to read a local newspaper in the entrance while I waited for my sandwich to go. Well, it took me a couple of minutes, but I soon realized that Friday night was apparently karaoke night there! What a treat that was to listen to while they made my sandwich! While some guy ungracefully belted out a random country song, I saw a 10 year old kid come into the place looking frustrated and pissed off. He walked into the bar area and disappeared for a few minutes, reappearing with a sheepish, glassy-eyed drunk trailing behind him. Awwe, that's so sweet - family time together, I thought as they walked out the door. My sandwich was ready before I was able to discover Indiana's next great singing sensation, however, and I headed back to the hotel to enjoy some of Portage's finest take-out cuisine. Frankly, I'm surprised that didn't give me hallucinations!

The next day I was out the door earlier than I actually woke up on most days on this trip. I fully intended to make it back to NYC in one day, damnit, even if it meant riding until midnight to make it all 760 miles. With a belly full of No-Doz, aspirin, and chocolate milk, I was ready to ride all day.

Ride On!

Back in the USA

I’m in Devil’s Lake, North Dakota now, probably about three or four days from reaching home. Being here is bittersweet – I’m psyched to get back to NYC to see Amy, my family, my friends, etc. but I’m bummed that the ride is coming to an end.

I hope that none of my posts have given the impression that I am not enjoying myself, by the way. While I have been frustrated beyond words at the crappy internet service and bummed about getting rained on for the better part of the last 2500 miles, I would still rather be doing this than almost anything else in the world. A really terrible day of riding is still far, far better than the best day in the office. Even when it is raining and cold and you feel like you’re fighting for every mile, it is still a glorious feeling. Riding is riding, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t actually love the cold, wet days in the saddle.

Although I wanted to stay in Canada as long as possible, I did finally abandon that plan yesterday. Aside from the whole internet thing, I also was getting sick of the bad roads, expensive gas, and crappy food. I met a really nice Englishwoman yesterday who is riding from Vancouver to Halifax and even she remarked that the food in Canada is terrible. When someone from England tells you the food is bad, that should tell you something! [Note: I actually think the Brits have an undeserved reputation when it comes to their cooking. One of the best meals of my life was had a couple of years ago when I was over there.]

Anyway, after riding through Manitoba a ways (and almost running over a badger who decided to cross the road in front of me – silly badger!), I decided to cut south to the Peace Garden and cross the border there. For the first time in years, I got searched. It was pretty painless and I was happy to comply (I appreciate the job the border guards do), but it did cost me nearly an hour of daylight.

Today I’m continuing my drive eastward and will likely stay on US 2 through Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. I probably won’t make as good mileage as doing the interstates, but that’s ok. I’d rather see a part of this amazing country that I haven’t seen before.

Ride On!

Gamera, International Turtle of Goodwill

After his run-ins with Godzilla and other giant monsters in the '60s and '70s, Gamera has devoted his life to promoting peace and brotherhood between the U.S. and Canada.

However, he does still eat the occasional overly inquisitive child.

Medicine Hat, Alberta

Driving through the city of Medicine Hat, I couldn't help but notice that there was an enormous teepee off to my right. Enormous is perhaps an understatement - the Saamis Teepee is 215 feet tall and has a diameter of 160 feet. The DL is parked next to it for comparison. That's one big-ass teepee!

I was also curious how the city got the name of Medicine Hat. Apparently it has something to do with a legend about some Native guy who ran off with some other guy's' wife. After talking to some animals and a merman and committing some human sacrifices, they decided the area looked like a hat worn by a Medicine Man, so they called the area Medicine Hat (they couldn't have just skipped all that other stuff?). Or something like that.

Edmonton, Alberta

The ride from Dawson Creek south and east was fairly uneventful. I did witness an air show as I was passing through Grande Prairie that was pretty cool. I saw one pilot in a fighter jet execute a full loop, followed by a sickening series of rolls and a last-second pull-up to practically strafe the crowd. Those guys are badasses. I wouldn't retain my lunch through 5 minutes of that, but those guys made it look fun and easy.

Somewhere around Whitecourt, I pulled off the road to check on the bike. I had heard a weird sound or two coming from the DL and wanted to investigate it. I happened to stop right next to a small lake that had a stately blue heron keeping watch over it. In the lake were two beavers, who were slowly swimming lazy circles around each other. Every once in a while, one of the beavers (only one - the other never did it) would slap the water's surface with its tail and then disappear under the water for 10-15 seconds before it would reappear a dozen or more feet away. I originally thought perhaps it was trying to stun fish for a snack, but it never caught one. I'm pretty sure beavers are vegetarians, too, so I really have no idea why it was doing it. Also, the slap-happy beaver started following the other beaver around and looked like it was trying to get a little more friendly (wink wink nod nod) with the other beaver, but was rebuffed every time. The other beaver would let Slappy swim up just inches behind her (I assume it was a her) and would then make a sharp turn to the left or the right, leaving Slappy to swim right past her. I'm pretty sure I now know what a frustrated beaver looks like.

I couldn't find anything wrong with the DL, but it seemed like the chain was maybe getting a little loose. I had just tightened it at Fort Nelson, so I was surprised that it needed to be done again so soon. Since I needed an oil change anyway, I figured I'd stop in Edmonton and have them look at that as well.

The next morning, I went over to the Suzuki dealership and dropped the DL off with them. I was still hoping to make it to at least Calgary, but as the morning changed to afternoon, I knew that was going to be tougher and tougher. The dealer told me that my chain was in fact toast and should be replaced immediately, and between that and the other work, I wasn't able to leave until nearly 4:00 PM. Of course, as I rolled my bike out of the service bay, the clouds looked downright pissed and started dumping on me literally seconds after I started riding. I made a dash south to outrun the storm (the area just to the south of Edmonton was still sunny) and was able to get past the rain within a half an hour or so. For the next hour, I blasted south on Route 2 towards Calgary, sometimes just moments ahead of the storm following me. At times, I could see rain falling on the fields to the left and right of me, and the ominous, angry and wet clouds hovering just above me. Keeping the speeds above 90 mph, I was able to outrun it, however, and the clouds were well behind me when I reached Calgary. Since it was still light out, I never stopped there, however, and turned east towards Medicine Hat. A few people have mentioned that I should have stayed there since it is a really lovely city, but I just wanted to eat up as many miles as possible after getting such a late start. Since I also had to skip Banff to save time, I'll have to return to the area someday...not like I need an excuse to ride across the country again!

The End of the Alaska Highway

I arrived in Dawson Creek after after another day of cold, wet riding. The day had started out with some sun and little sign of rain, but by the afternoon the clouds had rolled in and the rain came with it. I guess Mother Nature had to get her claws into me one last time (she managed to rain on me every day from Anchorage to Dawson Creek). That last day does have some great sights, too, and some stretches of it are amazingly fun to ride.

I was both happy and sad to roll into Dawson Creek. While I knew this would likely mean better roads, better weather, and the ability to pick up a lot more miles in a day, it also was the end of the "adventure" part of the ride. From then on everything would become tamer, both the riding and the scenery. However, I had never ridden across Canada before and was looking forward to seeing the world's second largest country.

So, having ridden the Alaska Highway twice now (technically that's not true - once from Dawson Creek to Fairbanks, which is the more "official route," and once from Anchorage to Dawson Creek), I can say that it truly is a marvel. From an engineering perspective, it is nothing short of amazing. That they were able to carve this road out of some of the remotest places on the continent in a manner of months is staggering. I also think it is a wonderful gift to the people of Canada, the United States, and travelers from around the world who are willing to take the time to traverse it. It is the only land bridge between the last great frontier we have - Alaska - and the mid-continent suburban sprawl that stretches for thousands of miles from Key West to Fort St. John. It is more than that, though - it is a road that leads to adventure. In all my years and my many thousands of miles of riding, it was never with such anticipation that I turned on to a stretch of road and started riding it. It combined technical challenges with spectacular scenery, interesting small towns and microscopic communities and lifestyles, and some of the absolutely best riding I've ever done. I also met more really, really cool bikers than I can recount. I've tried to introduce some of them to you, but there were dozens of others that were great to ride with, to talk bikes with, to share riding stories with, and to just hang out with. There, it seemed like the normal camaraderie that bikers share really did become more of a brotherhood. And I know now that whenever I meet another biker that has also ridden the Alaska Highway, I'll immediately know more about that person than I know about most people.

It is, after all, a very special road.

Ride On!

Bears!

On the last couple of days on the Alaska Highway, I saw more bears than I could believe - 5 including the pair above. I saw this Mama Bear and her cub right by the side of the road just hanging out. They were snacking away on the plants and really could have cared less about my presence.

The cute little bear cub there actually wasn't that little. He was probably almost three feet long, so that gives you some idea how big Mama Bear was. Needless to say, I didn't test Mama Bear's patience by getting too close...

The Big Chubby

I've been trying to eat at fast food joints as little as possible on this trip, but sometimes the alternatives are gas station sandwiches or hunger, so you swallow the greasy nastiness that you know is bad for you and pretend not to enjoy that Big Mac too much (hey, I never said the stuff doesn't taste pretty good - I have a serious, nearly pathological weakness for Taco Bell).

On the last day that I was riding the Alaska Highway back to Dawson Creek, I stopped at Fort. St. John for some dinner. Since I was in a rush and I'd never had it before, I decided to stop in to an A&W restaurant. There are some of them in the U.S., but they are just about everywhere in Canada (there are probably more of them than McDonalds).

These restaurants are similar to a McDonalds or a Burger King, but they also serve one or two other more "traditional" alternatives to burgers and fries. They even still serve A&W Root Beer in frosted glasses and tasty looking root beer floats. I, however, wanted some yummy cow in my stomach and opted for one of their burgers (named after family members, like the Grandpa, the Mama, or the Teen - I still have no idea what distinguishes them). While I was waiting, the various A&W staff called out to each other about the orders in progress, just like any other fast-food joint. Then I started hearing things like "How much longer 'til this guy gets his chubby?", "Hey, I really need that chubby NOW!", and "What's the wait looking like for a large chubby?"

Well, those sweet, harmless Canadians clearly have no idea that the word "chubby" is a euphemism for erection. CHUBBY = BONER, STIFFY, HARD-ON, well, you get the idea. The good people running the A&W restaurant chain - as well as the customers, apparently - clearly aren't aware that having a menu item like "Chubby Chicken" (in several variations and sizes, no less) might create some linguistic hilarity for us Americans.

My favorite lines of the evening (other than those listed above):
"Hey, this guy is still waiting for his chubby - what should I tell him?"
"Can I get a chubby 12 up here?"
"What comes with the large chubby?"
"What's taking so long with that small chubby?"
"I'm sorry, you're going to have to wait at least 20 minutes for a chubby."
"Can I get two medium chubbies to go?"

I'm just glad all I wanted was a burger!

The Alaska Highway Redux

The ride from Whitehorse to Dawson Creek can be pretty well summed up in two words: cold and wet. It was still a fun ride, but I got a little cranky from not being able to feel my fingers and toes all day. My boots not only stopped being waterproof but actually starting absorbing water, so that when I got off the bike I would leave little puddles with each step as the water squished out (for shame, Diadora!). The temperature was generally in the high 40s to low 50s, but one guy I met when I stopped into a cafe to defrost said it had dropped to 40 on the last stretch of road we'd just ridden. I don't know if it really was that cold, but I eventually had to stop every 30 miles or so and warm my feet against the engine for a few moments. I began to fantasize about all those things I've always scoffed at like electric vests, heated grips, and actual waterproof clothing.

The day that biker died on the road in front of me was a real bummer (see the earlier post). It certainly cast a pall over the ride for the rest of the day and I was just a touch more careful on the road. As some other biker I met later would remark, "Well, we're not out here playing kick the can now, are we?" True enough. Still, a little caution goes a long way out there.

Watson Lake, like Haines Junction, seemed a bit sleepier than it did when I was riding with the Filthy Five. Once again, I bowed out of exploring the local culture (i.e. going to the bar at the Watson Hotel) and decided to catch up on some reading and blogging. The hotel I stayed in didn't have 'net access in the rooms, but they had an ethernet jack in a meeting room that I plugged into for a little while. It actually worked pretty well, one of two decent 'net connections I found in Canada.

The ride from Watson Lake to Fort Nelson was COLD and WET - brrrr! I stopped into the roadside restaurant at Toad River (excellent poutine, BTW) and met up with a couple of other cool bikers there. I met a woman there who was riding a Buell solo from Toronto to Dawson City. That's guts, I tell ya - I don't think there's a major motorcycle company out there that makes bikes with as bad a reputation as Buells have. Even the motorcycle press (loathe to ever say a bad word for fear of jeopardizing some future ad revenue) rag on Buells for their lack of reliability. That's a shame, too, since Erik Buell seems to be a true innovator. Maybe their newer bikes will finally shake that reputation, but I'd be mighty wary of taking one of those up the Alaska Highway. Here's hoping she made it there and back without any trouble.

I also met and rode with (for a while, at least) a pretty famous actor who I've admired for a long time. I never actually asked him point blank who he was (meeting people on the road is like that - you might have a 30 minute chat with someone and end up knowing their whole riding history, what bikes they have, what mods they've made, where they're going and where they've been, and still not know their name), but I'm pretty certain he was who I think he was. If he was who I think he was, (and I've confirmed that this actor lives where this guy said home was - not LA!), I have to give him props. Even with his martial arts training and history of playing bad-asses, you've got to be pretty tough to do that ride at 64. Way to go, and I hope you made it home safe.

After I split off from my famous riding buddy, I continued south to Fort Nelson. There I stayed in the same little motel/gas station/convenience store/RV Park I'd stayed in before. That motel, the Blue Bell Inn, is the other one of the two places I found in Canada that had reliable internet service, and the rooms were great (and cheap!). Also, the first time I'd stayed there, I'd gotten to talking with the Manager, a really affable guy named Michael, and I knew that he ran a good operation and was happy to give him my business. Sure enough, my stay there was great and I got a chance to chat with Michael a bit more the next day. I don't usually recommend places, but you could do a lot worse than the Blue Bell Inn when you stay in Fort Nelson.

Actually, there was one really amusing thing that happened there: when I was checking in, I handed my Driver's License as ID to the girl behind the counter, and she seemed amazed to be meeting someone from NYC. She said that she had visited NYC the previous year and had LOVED it, especially Broadway and Times Square. I mentioned that my last (next?) job was located on Broadway and Times Square, and she seemed quite impressed with that. A little while later, after I had checked in and changed out of my grimy road gear and freshened up a bit, I dropped into the office/convenience store to pick up some snacks and water for later. I overheard her telling her co-worker that she had met a guy from NYC and "...how cool is THAT?!? He lives in Brooklyn and used to actually work in an office on Broadway!", she gushed to her slightly older and more jaded co-worker. I overheard all this and thought the whole thing was pretty funny. She completely didn't recognize me (seeing how I wasn't covered in mud anymore), and I finally broke down at the counter and said "OK, NYC is pretty cool, but not THAT cool! Besides, I'd trade places with you and live up here for a while in a second!" Her unimpressed co-worker then chimed in "Well, but then you'd have to live with her BOYFRIEND!", which made the younger girl blush and get a little pissed that she'd blown her dating status in front of the NYC guy. I just thought the whole thing was hilarious and laughed all the way back to my room - I never knew that being from NYC was soooo cool (yeah, RIGHT!) HA!

Whitehorse, Yukon

On the way north, the Filthy Five had stopped into Whitehorse for dinner and then spent the night in Haines Junction. I was looking forward to possibly stopping for the night there on the way back. However, I felt guilty about considering it, since I had only ridden about 100 miles from Haines Junction to there, and let's face it: 100 miles is hardly the stuff of epic riding days. However, I felt like it was a town worth checking out, and it was just raining nonstop, so I ultimately decided to hang up my helmet there and have a real nice, easy day of it.

I checked into a hotel right in the middle of downtown Whitehorse and then went in search of the local Suzuki dealer I'd seen on the way into town. They were kind enough to let me borrow their pressure washer to get the mud from the worst construction zone on the Alaska Highway off of the DL - she was filthy! Once again, the Suzuki guys had my back. Thanks.

I rode around the town a bit and it seemed like a pretty cool place. I'm sure it gets beastly in the winter, but it was great while I was there. The clouds even parted later and the sun poked through for a while.

In the evening, the open windows let in the sounds of the bars downstairs and I decided to go have a look. While the bar in the hotel was a little too Dockers & Hairspray for me, the Capital Hotel down the street had a bar with a metal band playing that night! They were called Nemesis (why oh why do I suspect that name has been used by at least 20 other bands already?) and they did a mix of metal classics and their own stuff. While their stuff was pretty good, they were wise enough to keep it to maybe a third of their set. The rest was a metal melange that was impressive in both execution and scope. They started things off with "Breaking the Law" by Judas Priest, and then played songs by Motorhead, Metallica, and Megadeth (all the "M" bands were represented except Maiden, Iron). All in all, it was one of the best live music experiences I've had in months. These guys didn't care about becoming rock stars, they just loved metal and had fun playing the best of it for the sake of playing it (and the free beer). Fun fun fun.

Destruction Bay

Destruction Bay is on the way south to Haines Junction. The area is very pretty and fun to ride through, and I love the name of the town. It sounds like the place where Megadeth goes fishing...

Off to...Destruction Bay....duh-duh duh duh duh duh....

Leaving Alaska, Pt. II

OK, I've completely gotten ahead of myself here and skipped over a lot of interesting times on my way south and east. I'l try to start filling that in here...

First, while the road from Wasilla to Tok in Alaska was treacherous in places and the weather was pretty wet for most of the day, it did pass through some stunning areas. During that day's ride, I rode next to glaciers and over mountain passes and through clouds sitting on the road like bloated, wet cottonballs. There were signs that warned of rocks and slides on the roads and for the first time that I've ever seen those signs they were right more often than wrong. As I got closer to Tok, the rain got nearly unbearable (as did the construction for a while), but I really wanted to press on and make it to the town we'd arrived in that first night in Alaska. I was even thinking about staying in that teepee again if I wasn't too wet, although the combination of the rain and the cold was making the motels look mighty tempting.

About 40 miles south of Tok, I came thisfuckingclose to running over an Arctic Fox. I think that's what it was - it was silver/grey and too small to be a coyote or a wolf (except for maybe a pup), so I think that's what it was. It just ran right in front of my front wheel while I was coming down a curving hill in the rain, so there was little I could do. Thankfully the bugger was quick enough to get out of my way, a fact I'm sure we're both thrilled about. If I'd hit him, I suspect he would have been toast. I doubt I'd have escaped unscathed, too, and I would have been bummed about squishing the poor critter.

After Tok, the road to Canada continued to be wet and the construction frequent. It seemed worse than when I'd ridden north with the Filthy Five, but that could just be because of the rain. The scenery continued to amaze me, however, and I was thrilled to see the road we took in from the opposite direction. While I rarely go back the way I came on a road trip (unless absolutely necessary), it is fun to see the sights from the opposite perspective. Hills climbed become hills to speed down, and some views look better the second time around when you know what you're looking at.

I made it into Canada for the second time on this trip in the early afternoon and headed south towards Haines Junction. The mountains there were shrouded in mist and the town seemed a little sleepier without the rest of the Filthy Five around. I got a room in the same motel but decided to catch up on some reading instead of soaking up some local culture (and beer) at the bar downstairs. I'd had a great time in that bar the last time I'd come through, but I wanted to feel a lot better than I had the morning after last time, if you know what I mean.

Leaving Alaska

The guys at the Suzuki dealership in Wasilla were kind enough to get the new Metzeler spooned on really quickly, and I was on my way back to Tok. It started raining a few miles after I got on the road, and I joked to myself that it was probably gonna rain on me all the way back to NYC.

I sure do wish I hadn't said that.

A little while later, I stopped to get gas and saw a nice bike parked on the side of the gas station. I went over to take a look at it as the owner came out and we started talking. It was a Victory, the other American motorcycle company. I haven't seen too many of them on the road, which is a real shame since they are quite nice looking bikes. I've been drooling over the new 8-Ball ever since I saw it in a motorcycle magazine some months ago. His Victory was an older model, however, and he had just gotten a fantastic deal from the Victory guys in Anchorage and was riding it north to meet up with his brother. He said he hadn't been riding much in the last few years, so I was impressed that he was going to break it in riding in Alaska. I wished him luck with his new baby and we went our separate ways only to meet up again at another gas station about 150 miles away. Alaska is funny like that - there are so few roads that you actually can run in to people randomly like that.

Well, the internet at the hotel just crapped out on me and I just lost the next five or six paragraphs I had just written. This has happened to me at virtually every single place I have stayed in Alaska and Canada, and it doesn't matter whether I'm using my WiFi or their ethernet (that's what just crapped out on me now). I apologize to all of you for bitching about this, but this is why I'm days behind in covering where I am. The worst part is that they really just don't care - these jackass hoteliers don't seem to understand that the internet can be used for more than browsing porn and looking at the dancing hamsters.

FUCK ME! Their 'net just went out AGAIN. I'm gonna kill someone.

I'm outta here. I'll post again when I'm back in the United States.

The Long Ride Home Begins

This is the moment I have NOT been waiting for: the long ride home. Don't get me wrong, it will be great to see my friends, family, and the Greatest Girlfriend in the World again, but the Ride Home always sorta gets me down no matter where I've ridden (but especially since Brooklyn is so goddamn UGLY compared to what I've seen over the last two months). I still have a special place in my heart for NYC, but I wouldn't want to ever live there again (oh, shit - wait a minute - I think we just signed a new lease! Oh well).

I know that this ride home will be full of reflection. I hope that the lessons I've learned on this trip will hold me in good stead for the rest of my life and that as I sort this all out I can cogently share it with you.

I am getting a new rear tire put on in Wasilla, AK, and then beginning the ride home through Tok, AK. I guess I don't have much choice, frankly - Tok has the distinction (I believe) of being the only city in the U.S. that you must drive through upon entering and leaving the state in which it is located. Lucky me.

Ride on.

Exit Glacier

On my way north back towards Anchorage, I stopped at Exit Glacier to see one of these rapidly shrinking "rivers of ice" firsthand. What an amazing sight - they really DO look like rivers of ice, and they are quite a wonder to behold.

One of the cool things that the National Parks has done is to create a trail that leads to the end of the glacier. Now, you may or may not agree with the irrefutable science that demonstrates that global warming is a major problem (scientists have a name for those of you who disagree: Fucking Morons, or Moronicus Fuckalltherestofus), but the trail to the glacier helps to demonstrate that it is melting at a very rapid pace. On the trail, they post signs telling you where the glacier's terminus was in what year. The glacier once went nearly as far as the current visitor's center, but now you have a brisk 15 minute hike from there to reach the end-point. How sad that people still don't think that global warming is a problem. Of course, those people are precisely the ones driving the RVs that get 6 MPG that are making this happen...

Seward, AK Pt. II

When I rolled into Seward, it was a gorgeous afternoon. I set up my tent on the last site left and just soaked in the beauty around me. A short while later, the Ranger came around to collect my info and I asked her about the the weather the next day.

"Oh, I hear the rain is supposed to be starting soon and lasting all weekend."

Shit.

"Yeah, we're not supposed to see the sun again until next week."

Shitshitshit. I am not a duck, so I am not inclined to enjoy spending long periods of time outdoors in the rain. Also, while I actually sorta enjoy camping in the rain, breaking camp in the rain sucks. With a car, you just throw your wet gear in the back, hop in, and turn up the heat while you dry off. Naturally, there is no such option with a bike - you end up stuffing your wet tent into a wet bag and then, wearing your wet things, get on the bike and ride away in the rain. Not a HUGE deal, but also not a lot of fun.

When I awoke the next morning, it was pouring. Thankfully my tent was keeping my stuff and me nice and dry, but I couldn't really leave the tent without getting soaked. I decided that I'd take my chances on leaving the next day and stuffed another $8 into the camp check-in box. I then spent the day curled up in my sleeping bag reading my Dad's book and subsisting on the bag of pretzels I had the prescience to buy the day before.

A brief aside here: my Dad's book is essentially his biography. While he hasn't gone skydiving with royalty or built a multi-billion dollar business empire, he's had a pretty interesting life. It has been really cool for me to read about his "macro" journey while I'm on this "micro" journey. Even though it is heartbreaking at times reading about my family's exile from our homeland and flight across Europe with the Soviet Army at their heels (the Soviets would have killed or imprisoned my family for the offense of being peasant German farmers living thousands of miles from Berlin - they had no love for the Nazi regime), it was compelling reading while I was on my admittedly much more serene journey.

During the afternoon, the rain eased up a bit and I headed into town to get supplies. As I took a second look, the town seemed pretty cool and I decided that I'd head back into town later for some dinner, maybe hit one of the taverns and soak up some local color.

In the early evening, I did just that. I stopped at Tony's, a nice neighborhood bar on the main drag. I got into a great conversation (and a pint of Alaska - man, am I gonna miss that stuff!) with a really nice guy named Kent, who was an honest-to-goodness fishing boat captain. It was fascinating to hear about what that lifestyle is like, and we had a really great conversation. However, it was punctuated by a little "disagreement" between two of the patrons.

When I had first arrived at the bar, there was a big, fat unkempt sweaty guy sitting on the last bar stool. He was drinking a frozen strawberry pina colada and rapidly tearing through pull-tab tickets (the Canadian equivalent of our scratch-off instant lottery cards, but without all the damn scratching). He literally must have gone through at least $100 worth of these cards when he said that he had to leave to "go close up shop." (I hope to God he's not a mechanic, I thought). He told the bartender (Jeff, a die-hard Yankees fan, who I became instant friends with) to make sure no one sat in his chair while he was gone.

Well, a short while after the big fat sweaty guy left (let's call him Tiny), another patron came in and sat down in Tiny's chair. When Tiny returned a few minutes later, he was none too pleased about it and told the guy that was his chair. Being no small man himself, he basically told Tiny (in a firm but polite way) that he was sitting here now, so fuck off.

That made Tiny unhappy, and he finally threw a Tiny-sized tantrum that culminated with him throwing his frozen strawberry Pina Colada on the guy (perhaps the guy wasn't so worried about going toe to toe with a guy drinking a frozen strawberry Pina Colada...?). Covered in pina colada, the guy calmly took his top shirt off, wiped the strawberry mixture off his hands, and calmly took a sip of his beer. We all expected bottles to start flying, strawberry pina colada to cover everything, and in general to witness a first-rate bar fight. Alas, Tiny had made his point, the other guy didn't take his bait, and he stormed out muttering something. The bartenders supplied the doused patron with a couple of towels, a couple of shots (gratis), and many apologies ("Tiny gets that way when he drinks and his pull-tabs don't win").

Soon after that little incident, I went down the street to a restaurant for some more halibut. It was heavenly, but there was so much of it I felt like a gorged Sea Otter by the end. I hadn't eaten anything but pretzels that day, however, so I was actually ok with that.

I returned to Tony's after dinner, and a group of wandering bluegrass musicians (guitar, upright bass, banjo and mandolin) had taken up residence where the Strawberry Pina Colada incident had taken place. They were GREAT (I don't even really like bluegrass!) and kept the crowd enthralled for the next hour. Everyone had a great time, and I made a couple more new friends, including the bouncer at a bar up the street, the Yukon. He told me to drop by later, which I did after leaving Tony's.

And the Yukon Bar? Ohmygod - they had another sorta band playing. I guess it is pretty tough getting a drummer up north, so they rely on a lot of drum machines and sequencers. Anyway, the Yukon featured a male-female duo playing your favorite classic rock tunes with electronic accompaniment. They were in the middle of a very spirited version of the Pretenders "Middle of the Road" when I arrived, and they kept rocking out from there. I have never seen tambourine playing like that in my life - she was so into it! He was actually a pretty talented guitarist, and its a shame that these guys couldn't get a whole band together up there.

Anyway, I stumbled back to my tent around 2:00 AM and fell asleep to the rain falling on my tent. When I awoke the next morning, the sun was shining (HURRAY!) and I headed back north towards Anchorage and Wasilla, where I had a new Metzeler Tourance Rear Tire (#2 for this trip) waiting for me.

Motorcycles Are Dangerous, Pts III-V

OK, I have to take a break from the chronological blog for a moment. Right now I'm back at Watson Lake after a very sobering couple of days of riding back south.

There is a very nasty construction site just outside of Haines Junction that I had to go through (again) yesterday. When I first passed through it, I hardly enjoyed it, but it was fairly dry and tolerable. Now, however, since it NEVER STOPS RAINING, it was a mess. When I pulled up to the Flag Woman (more on that phenomenon later), she stopped me and looked concerned.

"It's a real mess up there. You're gonna have to go real slow and be real careful."

Any mud? For me it is all about the mud - there's not much you can do on a streetbike if you hit heavy mud. You might as well just get off the bike and kick it over to save yourself from injury - the results to the bike will likely be the same.

"Oh, yeah - it gets really bad it some spots. We've had guys wiping out in it all week."

Lovely.

"Yeah, we had one guy get a broken arm yesterday, another guy broke his leg the day before...it's a mess, so be real careful."

Fuck. Fuckity fuck.

Well, in the end I made it through OK. I had the presence of mind to drop the air pressure in my tires, and I think that made a huge difference (thanks again for bringing the air compressor to Seattle, Dad, and for attaching the alligator clips. I owe you a lawn mowing or two). I did still almost dump it a couple of times, and the DL and I were COVERED in mud by the end (remember that mud wrestling scene in "Stripes"? That was me yesterday). But we made it through and carried on in the unending rain to Whitehorse.

Today was very depressing. When I left Whitehorse, it was sunny and warm and I was in a good mood (the rain makes me really, really depressed) when I hit the road. Well, naturally that couldn't last, and before I'd gone 100 miles I was soaked again. After I'd gone about 200 miles, I stopped into a little roadside diner/gas station/motel/bar/everythingrolledintooneplace for some hot coffee and soup. Between the combination of the unending rain and the cold temperatures, I really needed it. The break did me good, and I was back on the road about a half an hour later. I was ready to ride the next 85 or so miles to Watson Lake, where I would make a decision about whether to press on or have yet another light mileage day because of the shitty weather.

Once I'd gone about 20 miles, traffic came to a halt, with RVs and semi-trucks lined up as far as the eye could see. I rolled to a stop and shut off my engine and tried to stay warm. A moment later, the driver of the RV in front of me came by and asked if I knew what was up. Since I had no idea, he went to ask the driver of the semi behind me. He came back a few minutes later and told me that there had been a bad accident. A motorcycle had collided head-on with a truck up the road, and the biker was killed instantly.

"Yeah, he was probably going too fast and forgot about how slippery these roads get and became a hood ornament for that truck." I almost got off the bike and beat the motherfucker right there. How DARE you talk about one of my brothers like that? This guy just DIED, you stupid redneck fuckwad, and you're calling him a hood ornament? And who the fuck knows what happened - maybe the truck crossed the centerline, you piece of shit.

I might have waved to this guy earlier today. Now he was dead.

Actually, if I hadn't stopped off for soup back there to warm up, that could be me. He likely passed through right around when I turned off. Who knows - maybe it was just his time, maybe Death was waiting in that curve and wasn't leaving without a biker today.

A few minutes later (after the helicopter carrying the corpse passed overhead), traffic started slowly moving. The trucker I was talking with recommended I cut in front of everyone and go to the front of the line. "Hell, I'd do it if I wuz on a bike," he drawled.

I started my engine and cut into the oncoming traffic lane (they weren't letting opposing traffic through yet, so I was safe) and passed about 100 RVs, trucks, and cars. I cut back into the line just by the accident scene, and what I saw will haunt me for a long time. The pickup truck was parked on the other side of the road and the front end was mashed in pretty badly. On the side of the road in my lane was a demolished silver Harley, the front end just destroyed. Then I saw a guy from a road crew with a shovel throwing dirt on the fluids in the road. I'm so very glad that there was already enough dirt there so I couldn't see what those fluids were.

Revisiting this now, I'm about to cry. I'm thinking of that silver Harley. Was it a birthday present from his wife? A little mid-life crisis thing he'd dreamed about for years? I just imagine how the guy must have felt the first time he got to ride that bike, how he felt being on the Alaskan Highway on what may have been a "dream ride" like mine, and then I think about the terror he went through in that split second before he hit the truck when he must have known that everything - everything - was over for him.

Yes, motorcycles are dangerous.

Yet tomorrow, I have to get back on the DL and ride in the coldest, wettest weather yet (I actually had to stop about 15 miles from Watson Lake today because I could no longer feel my fingers or toes and I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose a digit because IT NEVER STOPS RAINING UP HERE). I also have to go through one of the worst construction zones on the Alaskan Highway, a section that I hated when it was dry and will be just awful now because of the rain.

I'm honestly getting a little tired of this. I really am looking forward to getting home, but I have to make it through tomorrow first.

Wish me luck.

Seward, AK

The town of Seward, AK is amazingly cool. They even have a 400(!) site public campground set up on the bay, just outside of the downtown area. Alas, like most of Alaska, it is geared to the Amazingly Annoying White Trash Land Whale Crowd, aka RVers, and 375 of the sites are for them. However, I snagged one of the 25 sites reserved for tent camping and these are the views from my tent.

This was $8 a night. I ask again, how in the world am I going to adjust to being back in NYC? You can barely take a cab anywhere for that kind of money anymore, but here it buys you paradise.

The Unbeatable Candidate?

As I drove back up the Kenai to go to Seward, I began seeing lots of signs for local elections. I thought that there was no way this guy could possibly lose (hey, he's SUPERMAN, for crying out loud!), but then I found out he's running against Bob Aquaman (very popular with the fishermen) and Wendy Wonderwoman (surprisingly the most conservative of the three - you never would have guessed it from those outfits).

I wonder how the kryptonite referendum is going to end up, too... this might be the year it finally passes, which obviously would be a crushing defeat for Superman.

Homer Spit Outstanding View #4

I don't think I ever had halibut before I got to Homer, but the place I stopped to grab dinner had it as their special - fish on a stick and chips.

Oh, sweet Jesus - that was some of the best fish I have EVER had! You could tell how fresh it was - my guess is that it was swimming earlier that day. Sorry, Mr. Halibut, but you were mighty tasty.

BTW, we are sorely missing out in the lower 48 by not having access to any of the Alaskan beers. Their amber and pale ale are amazing and this was a perfect match with the fish. YUM.

All in all, this was one of the best meals of the trip. I've really tried to synch up my meals with the locale (like BBQ down south, for example), and this was just phenomenal.

Speechless

Bunny was very impressed by the view as well.

Home Spit Outstanding View #3

Another view from the tent.

Is it at all surprising that I would prefer to camp than stay in some crappy hotel room?

Homer Spit Oustanding View #2

This was the view from my tent on Homer Spit.

Wow. How will I be able to live in NYC after this...?

Homer Spit Outstanding View #1

This is how the sky looked because of the fires upon reaching Homer Spit, the small little mini-peninsula that sticks out from the town of Homer.

Alaska's Kenai Peninsula

This was taken on the road south from Anchorage into the Kenai Peninsula. I wasn't even there yet and I was floored by the beauty of the region.

The rest of the ride down to Homer was less spectacular, although it did have its moments. At one point, I saw a really stunning collection of clouds off to the east, but didn't stop to take a photo because, well, if I stopped to take a photo of every cool looking cloud I'd still be in California right now. A short while later, however, the cloud formation had expanded to take over all of the eastern sky and had taken on a weird brownish tinge.

Great, I thought, a freakin' volcano erupted here and I couldn't be bothered to take a photo of it. Way to go.

Well, it turned out not to be a volcano (damn! I never get to see the cool natural disasters!) - it was a forest fire that started near the city of Kenai from a lightening strike. The fire must have spread pretty quickly, because I was unable to outrun the spreading smoke. By the time I reached Homer at the end of the peninsula, most of the sky was dark and the temperature was dropping fast. There were also little tiny flecks of ash starting to fall from the sky.

Anchorage, AK

A few hours after I finally got to see Mt. McKinley, I rolled into Anchorage, AK. I rode the road into town to its terminus, which was in a nice neighborhood right by the water. Not all areas of Anchorage are pretty, but that 'hood sure was. I'm a sucker for houses by the water.

I then began my nightly quest for a place to stay, and Anchorage now tops my list of most overpriced places for lodging. I ended up getting ripped off by a bunch of lying sacks at a Days Inn for (ready for this?) $170. They swore all they had left was an "Executive Suite," which is how they tried to justify the high cost. However, they mysteriously had several smaller rooms available later when I complained about the street noise and utter lack of WiFi access in my room. Whatever you do, don't even contemplate staying there. I recommend finding a place out of the city if you ever choose to visit Anchorage. If you must stay in the city, do not go to their crappy Days Inn. You've been warned.

The people at Anchorage Suzuki were another matter, however. They were supercool, friendly, helpful, and checked out my clutch - for free, under warranty - in an expeditious manner. They even washed the DL for me! I'm really grateful for how they treated me and they really make me feel good about my decision to buy a Suzuki. I remember trying to get a Honda dealer to take a look at my last bike (also when under warranty), and he flatly refused, saying that I was outta luck because I didn't buy it from him. That's hardly the only time I've had problems with Honda, BTW. The Honda Rider's Club (sorta like a AAA for bikes) left me stranded in Mississippi on this trip (thank God for my insurance or I'd still be pushing it!) and has done that to me twice before as well. All in all, Suzuki has treated me far, far better than Honda ever has. I guess I know whose bikes I'll be buying in the future...

Once the DL was given the all-clear, I got on the road again and headed down to the Kenai Peninsula. Just as I headed out, however, I ran into the guys I first met up with (Jim and Rich, I believe) on the Alaskan Highway about a week earlier - what are the odds, huh? We pulled over and chatted a bit. They had just finished doing the Dalton Highway, which is the legendary (for how brutal it is) road leading up to Prudhoe Bay and were going to spend a couple of days in Anchorage.

We said our goodbyes and I headed south into what was heralded as the most beautiful chunk of Alaska. That, however, is an understatement - it is one of the most spectacular places in the whole country. Ride On!

Mt. McKinley, aka Denali

About 50 miles south of the park entrance, I just happened to be driving by a turnout and saw this to my right. Holy smokes - there it was! The clouds had cleared up enough that you could see the majesty of Denali in the distance. Wow - what a mountain! I was really floored. I'm not sure that this shot does it justice, but it is an imposing sight even when viewed from miles away.

Denali - cool! Ride On!

Denali National Park, Pt. II

Denali National Park has a stark sort of beauty that's different from other big national parks like Yosemite or Yellowstone. However, I saw only a tiny sliver of Denali (since I was only there for the night), so perhaps I'm poorly qualified to judge.

This was taken on the one road that runs into Denali about ten miles from the entrance to the park. It was a lucky shot, and not for any reason having to do with the actual photograph. When I stopped to take it, I noticed that one of the two screws holding my chainguard in place had disappeared (no big surprise - I'm amazed my fillings haven't come undone up here). It couldn't have come undone more than a couple of miles earlier, as I was playing tourist and taking a picture every few minutes and probably would have noticed it. It had managed to start rubbing against the chain pretty well in just that short time, though.

Thankfully I still had the safety wire in my Givi trunk (I'd dropped the rest of my things off at a motel) and I was able to temporarily secure it in place until I got back to the motel, where I just removed the thing completely. The dealer in Anchorage was able to scrounge up a replacement screw and I put it back on then.

One of the interesting phenomenons up here (Denali and all of the North) is the size of the trees. I believe that the permafrost keeps them this small. Weird, huh? Most of the trees don't get bigger than about 12-15 feet tall, except for some of the birches further south.

Anyway, I didn't spend more than one night at Denali for a number of logistical reasons. You see, DNP has only one road running into it. It is 90 miles long, but cars are only allowed on the first 15 miles or so. While I applaud their efforts to keep Denali wild, it is kind of frustrating for me, since I don't really have the option of leaving the DL parked somewhere with all my gear on it. People in cars can easily throw their stuff in the trunk and hop on the park bus for a day of sightseeing, but I'm a little more threatened by thievery than they are. The frustration is compounded by the fact that there is an RV campground about 30 miles inside the park, so those big, annoying Landwhales that are camping there can drive further in than the rest of us.

No worries, however - I was looking forward to heading south to Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula anyway. I was hopeful that I'd see the tallest mountain in North America on my way, and luck was with me once again.

Denali National Park

After getting my oil changed, I headed south towards Denali National Park. I was very excited; even the name sounds exotic and dangerous, right? Anyway, the danger started long before I'd gotten to Denali - there was about 30 miles of construction on the highway soon after I left Fairbanks. Highway construction up here is very different than in the lower 48, BTW. In the L48, it typically means lots of traffic as everyone gets into one good lane while watching the construction take place on the side. Not so here - it means that you will be driving on one barely drivable lane (of the two) while construction takes place on the other and opposing traffic waits its turn on the shitroad. It is not smooth, it is not pretty - it is usually dirt and loose gravel and mud and, if you're really lucky, some sand and loose dirt, too. Therefore, if you are riding a motorcycle, you take this shit pretty seriously (some guy had to be airlifted out of a construction zone in the Yukon the day I went through), even more so if it is raining.

Just as I hit the construction, it started raining. Nice....

I got through each section OK, but my nerves were pretty fucking shot by the end. I have found that the best way to deal with this crap is to find a rut you like and just plow forward along it and hope to God the RV that made it didn't make any hair-pin turns or you're screwed. More than once I felt the DL going sideways and just said "FUCK IT!" and blasted forward. It is interesting that going faster through this sort of stuff is actually a positive thing - this is something I'm still learning, I guess. It has been too many years since I rode dirtbikes and assumed I'd bounce off the ground, perhaps.

Anyway, I eventually got through the constuction morass and headed south towards Denali, visions of Mt. McKinley (what we Honkies call it - the Natives still call it Denali) dancing in my head. When I got near the park, it was pretty evident by the hordes of American tourists, RVs, and the craven businesses created to fleece, I mean service them.

Well, I was here. This was - to me - the ultimate goal of the trip. I've been a fan of big mountains for my whole life, and I wanted to see North America's biggest and baddest.

Fairbanks Sucks

North Pole was only a few miles from my destination for the night, Fairbanks. I was planning on getting my oil changed there and was looking forward to being in a real city again.

Well, I have to tell you: Fairbanks sucks.

First, like most of Alaska, it is godawful expensive. I ended up at a Super 8 that cost a whopping $140 a night. The clueless woman at the front desk promised me that their WiFi was working fine when I checked in, but apparently they didn't actually HAVE a WiFi network there (duh...). The last person to occupy the room they put me in apparently had some freshly cured hides and the room stank of dead animal. Naturally, they had no other rooms to put me in (so they claimed), so I had to endure dead critter stank for the night and it took a couple of days for the smell to leave my belongings. Thankfully, the hotel manager was a reasonable guy and chopped about half the cost of the room off my bill when I checked out.

My other fun experience in Fairbanks occurred when I tried to get some dinner. Since I'd had a late lunch, I wasn't hungry until late in the evening, and the only things open nearby then were a Wendy's and a Denny's. Although I've been trying to avoid fast food on this trip, I figured that Wendy's was better than Denny's (at least they haven't been sued repeatedly for racial discrimination, which is why I avoid Denny's) and walked over to get some dinner. The dining room was closed, but the drive-through was open, so I walked up to the drive-through and waited on line.

A moment later, some snotty little inbred punk-ass kid in a stained Wendy's uniform came over from a car parked near me and said "You can't order without a car - you need to have a car to order from the drive through."

"Why?" I asked.

"You just do!" he whined and stormed over to the drive-through window.

The car in front of me finished ordering and drove up to the window, and I walked into the ordering area. At first, I thought I was going to be OK, since the troglodyte working the drive-through did actually ask what I wanted to order. After I told her what I wanted, she asked me to wait a moment. A few seconds later, her genetically challenged manager came on the microphone and yelled at me "YOU HAVE TO HAVE A CAR! GET OUT OF THE DRIVE-THROUGH!"

"Why do I need to have a car?" I asked. "I just want to get a burger, and I didn't feel like taking my motorcycle." This was true - I had scored a prime parking spot right by the entrance of the (not so) Super 8 and knew if I moved my bike now, I'd have to end up parking overnight in the much less secure rear of the building.

"SIR, YOU HAVE TO HAVE A CAR FOR SECURITY REASONS! LEAVE THE DRIVE-THROUGH IMMEDIATELY OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE!" she barked.

Security reasons? Are they for real? I thought.

"Listen, I just want some dinner. I'm clearly no security risk - can't you just fill my order?" I asked.

"SIR, I AM CALLING THE POLICE. LEAVE THE DRIVE-THROUGH IMMEDIATELY!" she barked.

"Why would you call the police? I'll just walk away long before they show up." Can you imagine the look on the cop's faces when they got that call?

"SIR, LEAVE THE DRIVE-THROUGH IMMEDIATELY!" she screamed.

"What the hell is wrong with you fucking rednecks? All I wanted was a burger!" Shaking my head (and clearly a threat to civilization), I walked off as the entire Wendy's staff watched from the drive-through window. I was probably the most exciting thing to happen to them in their sad, pathetic little fast-food worker lives. I bet they all felt like they'd scored a major victory against terrorism by denying me a burger because I didn't have a car.

Assholes.

The one almost bright spot came the next day, when the guys at the local Suzuki dealership squeezed me in for a $100 oil change. At least they didn't consider me to be a security threat, right? Actually, they were very helpful, but the mechanic who changed my oil said that he thought my clutch was starting to go and that I should have it looked at. Now, I've ridden motorcycles tens of thousands of miles and haven't burned through a clutch yet, and the DL was only two months old with less than 10,000 miles, but I decided that I'd take it in once I got to Anchorage.

After that, I got the hell out of Fairbanks as quickly as possible and never looked back.

North Pole Fun

The town of North Pole, Alaska has clearly gone a long way to capitalize on its name. When I stopped off at the local visitor's center, I couldn't help but notice that they had a special place set up next door for Santa's Helpers to unwind - the Elf's Den.

I might have just chuckled and ridden on, except for what was on the side of the building...

Drunken Elves

Ha! I always knew Elves were drunks!

Notice the little smiley face drawn into the "o" in "Lounge" - too much! That can only be the work of drunken Elves!

Now we know how to explain the shoddy workmanship of their toys lately...

Alaskan Humor

When I first arrived in Alaska, I began to wonder whether the natives had any kind of a sense of humor. They all seemed so staid and stoic that I wondered if their faces would crack if they actually smiled. During our first meal in Alaska, Julee of the Filthy Five asked our server if he ever smiled (he was as stonefaced as a statue), at which point he broke down and apologized, as he'd had a long day.

The next day, I found proof of a sense of humor among the Alaskans. I saw this license plate at the post office and the woman who owned the car agreed to let me take it and publish it. She explained that "intellectual types" from the lower 48 would often ask her if her husband was the local DA. Duhhhh.....c'mon guys!

This woman clearly has a sense of humor and should be applauded for it. Cheers!

End of the Alaskan Highway

Whoo-hoo! I actually made it!

In the town of Delta Junction lies the official end of the Alaska Highway. Being a cheeseball, I had to stop and have my picture taken in front of the actual sign. Just to the right of the white signpost is an example of a "pig," or a device used to clean the inside of the Alaskan Pipeline.

Ironically, the guy I asked to take the photo also was from Brooklyn (that's his bike parked behind me). Small world, huh?

Sleepy in the Teepee

When the Filthy Five arrived in Tok, Alaska, the rest of the crew decided that the imminent rain meant that we should end our journey for the day there. While I couldn't disagree with them, I wasn't about to pay the extremely unfriendly woman running their motel $72 for a crappy room (the cheapest room I would encounter in Alaska, BTW), so I went to the visitor's center in town for recommendations. They had a few suggestions, including the Thompson's Eagle's Claw Motorcycle Park on the edge of town. While the campground was rather primitive, I did get to sleep in a teepee, which was pretty cool.

Oh, one last thing I forgot when I originally posted this: I had my second "accident" of the trip here. I had just arrived and checked the place out and had spent some time chatting with Tommy, a guy from Washington State who had ridden up on a '65 BMW with his dog in a sidecar (fuckin' A!), and two French guys (names forgotten - sorry, chaps!) who had their Honda Africa Twins (bikes not for sale in the U.S. - bastards!) shipped over and had ridden across Canada to Alaska. Anyway, I thought the campground was a circular one (most are), and I tried to drive through but encountered a primitive bear trap (i.e. big fucking hole) instead. When I tried to back away from it on the soft gravel surface of the campground, my foot slipped on the slick gravel and off I tumbled, the DL falling beside me. The French guys were cool and jumped up to help me (while Tommy sat and watched, no doubt laughing at my foolishness) while I lay flat on my back in the rain, laughing my ass off at my own ineptitude. If you can't laugh at yourself, then you're in real trouble, right? The French guys must have thought I was a bit insane lying there laughing with my pride and joy in the gravel and mud beside me, but they were totally great about it and helped the DL and I get situated vertically. When they asked if I was OK, I replied that I was fine, but my ego was shattered. They made me feel better by saying that they'd been through the same things many times before (who hasn't?) and that all I needed was a good woman to bring my ego back to where it was before. I may be in a small minority when I say this, but I love the French! Viva la France! I hope those guys had a safe trip back to Montreal. I told them they could tell all their buddies about watching an American dump his brand new bike and lie in the rain laughing about it - I suppose they likely will, and that's OK by me...

Alaska!

Alaska! I finally made it!

I have been fascinated by Alaska ever since I was a small boy. When I heard tales of glaciers, polar bears, the Northern Lights, and 24 hour daylight in the summer, I swore that someday I would travel there and see it for myself. By the time I had reached college, I began to dream of someday riding there. For years I've stared longingly at maps and dreamed of the day I would arrive in this fabled land, and it had finally come.

I'm actually getting all vehklempt (as Mike Myers would say) writing about this. To fulfill a dream like this is beyond description. To some people this might just be a fool's errand, to others, something that is pretty run-of-the-mill. But to me, this was IT.

To all those dreamers out there, I have this to say to you: go make your dream happen. Stop letting your "responsibilities" hold you back. Life is far too short and our time here far too precious not to. Did I suffer to make this happen? Sure. Are my credit cards ready to burst into flames? Absolutely. Do I miss my girlfriend, my family, my friends, my home, my Xbox, playing guitar, good Thai food, and everything else I left behind? Of course. But it has all been worth it.

Go ride to your Alaska. Don't wait for "someday," make it happen now.

Go live your dreams.

Haines Junction

The Filthy Five (the siblings riding together I mentioned earlier, our new friend Derek, and myself) rode together from Watson Lake through Whitehorse, BC. About 50 miles west of Whitehorse, Derek caught a rock in his radiator and started leaking pretty badly. Ritchie, Matthew, and Julee rode on to Haines Junction to secure rooms while Derek and I tried to ensure his bike was rideable. After putting some more water in (or so we thought - I'm still not sure what Derek was pouring water into, since he found the REAL filler hole the next day!), we took off and hit another monster construction site. I decided to try dropping the air pressure in my tires and it seemed to help on the soft stuff quite a bit, while Derek just blasted ahead on his FJR 1300.

I finally rolled into Haines Junction and checked into the same hotel as the rest of the Filthy Five. Within minutes, we all had a drink in our hands and we proceeded to wage war against that scourge of civilization, sobriety. A couple of hours later when we were properly fortified, we all went to the hotel bar and hung out with the locals. Everyone we met was very friendly and we had a blast (well, what I remember of it - ouch!).

The next morning we took off to ride the rest of the Canadian portion of the Alaska Highway. I can't speak for the rest of my companions, but I still had a little bit of a buzz on when we took off. Always remember kids: drinking and driving don't mix. Every time we hit construction and I got bounced around (and my brain banged against the inside of my skull), I swore I would never drink the night before serious riding again. Have I really learned my lesson? We'll see...

Why People Ride the Alaska Highway

Wow - what a view!

Watson Lake Sign Post Forest

No visit to Watson Lake would be complete without a visit to the Sign Post Forest. It was started in 1942 by a member of the Army working on the Alaska Highway. It now has over 10,000 signs from all over the world.

Pretty cool, eh?

Yukon Ho!

Once we got through the pretty vast (but not the last) construction site, Jim and Rich decided to hang out and check out some local hot springs. I decided to ride on with my new friends Ritchie, Matthew, and Julee from Ohio. Two brothers and a sister taking a ride to Alaska together - how cool is that? My sister and I can barely stand to be in the same room together for more than an hour, and here these three are riding and bunking with each other for nearly a month. That's love, let me tell you.

This picture was taken shortly after all four of us nearly dumped our bikes. There are a lot of loose gravel patches throughout the Al-Can, but almost all of them are well labeled and relatively easy to ride through if you are prepared for them. Well, we were all riding along at about 70 mph when all of a sudden I saw big clouds of dust come up as Matthew crested a hill and hit a monster gravel patch. I soon saw Ritchie and Julee disappear into the dust as I hit my brakes and downshifted to prepare for it. Within a second or two, my visibility was reduced to zero as I hit the gravel, and both my front and rear wheels decided they no longer liked each other and wanted to go in opposite directions. Although the patch couldn't have been more than 100 yards long, it was the most harrowing part of the ride thus far (an opinion shared by the other three as well). I'm really disappointed that the road crews didn't label that gravel, since someone is going to eventually need to be airlifted out of there (or buried) because of it.

After that little sphincter-puckering wake-up call, we headed into Watson Lake and stopped for the night. THAT was fun - we rented rooms in the same hotel, had dinner and drinks together, and then went out to the local hotspot, the bar at the Watson Hotel. We also picked up another rider, Derek, who was riding north from Indiana. At the Watson, we ran the pool table, guaranteeing the enmity of the locals. Some little weasel of a guy tried to pick up Julee (who has a boyfriend back home), and we all thought a fight might be imminent. However, the only ass-kicking came on the pool table, and those poor, drunken bastards are probably still trying to figure out what happened.

One last notable thing: the Watson Hotel had "live entertainment," which meant some guy with a guitar, sequencer, and drum machine doing rock classics. I will never hear "Hotel California" the same way again...

New Friends

Just before Muncho Lake, I stopped for lunch at one of the exceedingly rare roadside cafes on the Al-Can. While there, I ran into a couple of bikers from the U.S. I'd met the day before, Rich and Jim (I'm awful with names - I think Rich is the guy on the left in the red and black suit, and Jim is wearing the "Can You See Me NOW?" yellow suit. When we all finished eating, we took off north together. We were joined by two brothers and their sister (more on them later) who were also riding north.

A short while later, we came to a construction site where we were forced to wait for about 20 minutes (a very common occurence on the Al-Can). Right where we waited, there was a small group of horses just hanging out. They weren't wild, just chillin' and looking for handouts of apples.

Muncho Lake II

Muncho Lake is pretty enough by itself, but there are some really fantastic mountains surrounding it as well.

This is one of the areas I'm really looking forward to seeing again on the long way home.

Muncho Lake

No weird Photoshop tricks here, Muncho Lake is really that color. Apparently copper oxide leaches into the lake and gives it that amazing blue/green coloring.

Funny how you can be cold, wet, and deliriously happy at the same time when you're riding a motorcycle.

Move Along, Dasher, Dancer, and Prancer

Reindeer are pretty cool, but they have no idea about right of way on the Alaska Highway. These cute but clueless critters held up traffic for about ten minutes while all the RVers busted out their video cameras. "Look, Sally, reindeer, just like Santa has!"

Only another five months until the Big Fat Man in a red suit enslaves you again...

Fort Nelson = FUN!

The Alaska Highway Beginning

The Alaska Highway begins in Dawson Creek, British Columbia at the symbolic mile marker "0" behind the DL in the photo above. It runs for 1422 miles through some of the wildest places in North America until it ends in Delta Junction, Alaska.

This is a very long road.

It was also quite the engineering marvel when it was built in WWII. When you ride it, it is very difficult to believe they built it in less than a year. However, because of the harshness of the climate up here, it is constantly falling apart and being rebuilt. That makes things "interesting" when you're on a bike...

Here comes the REAL fun!

Somewhere Over The...

For the first three days I was in Canada, it rained on and off (mostly on), which made for a lot of cold, wet, sometimes miserable riding. However, more than once in the past I've been rewarded by a fantastic rainbow during a rainy day of riding. I can't speak for anyone else, but they still thrill me and leave me awed.

This was a double rainbow (you can sorta see the second one in the upper left-hand corner) I saw on Route 97 west of Chetwynd, BC. The more prominent rainbow was so real looking, I almost felt like I could reach out and touch it. You could even really distinguish the violet, which is pretty rare.

Route 97

Route 97 lies at the very end of Route 99. What totally amazed me was that only 50 or 60 miles earlier I was in a forest surrounded by snowy, cloud-draped peaks, pine trees, and rushing rivers, yet here it was pretty arid (note the sage behind me). Normally, the landscape slowly changes around you as you ride, but here the change was pretty pronounced. No more rain, either, thankfully.

I sure hope I like Route 97, since I'm going to be on it for a long, long time.

Route 99

This is Route 99 about halfway between Vancouver and Route 97, the road that eventually becomes the Alaska-Canada Highway. At this point I'd driven for miles without seeing another human.

What I began to feel the further north into Canada I rode was just how utterly tiny I was. Sure, I feel pretty insignificant next to the Empire State Building too, but this was different. It was more of a feeling that humans were totally meaningless here. Oh, we could bring in armies of loggers and bulldozers and turn the place into an enormous parking lot in a generation or two if we really wanted to, but you could tell that we hadn't so much as made more than a dent there so far. I think that's incredibly cool. It is, however, a little daunting knowing that if you totally blow that next turn and go over the edge, your body might not be found - ever.

The high point was riding along next to Duffy Lake, a pristine greenish-blue lake adjacent to 99 about 30 miles from Pemberton. It was so clean looking, just like all the water I saw up there. It blows you away to have rivers and streams, lakes and even waterfalls just everywhere up there, often within a few feet of the road, that look like you could safely dip a glass into them without fear. They even smell fresh!

Note, by the way, that Route 99 is a pretty major highway up in BC. From Vancouver, there are really only two highways north and this is one of them (the road less traveled, in this case). Yet on at least a half a dozen occasions I came upon one lane wooden bridges that I had to cross, once having to yield to the vehicle coming from the other direction that had the right of way. The only other place I've ever had to do that was Costa Rica, and I think their bridges were concrete!

Ahhh, and the air - so crisp and clean you just wanted to gulp it down. After breathing in nothing but the crap that's floated across from New Jersey over the years, this was like, well, a breath of fresh air.

Sorry.

Anyway, 99 was a great introduction to what I'm going to be immersing myself in over the next couple of weeks riding to, through, and from Alaska. I can't wait. I only wish it hadn't been raining around Whistler, since that made me focus more on the road than on enjoying the scenery. Perhaps this is yet another place I'll have to come back to someday...?

Vancouver, BC, and into the Great White North

I finally crossed the border into Canada yesterday afternoon. I know, I certainly took my time doing so, right? I really enjoyed Washington immensely, and I'd love to go back and explore Seattle some more.

Before crossing the border, I stopped in Bellingham, a small town about a half and hour from the border. I'd been there before but didn't really have a chance to check it out much, so I spent some time crusing around the town and seeing the sights (which are pretty minimal - sorry, guys). I had decided to stop at a fish & chips joint that Amy and I went to the last time we cut through (situated in a converted double-decker British bus), but they were closed for the 4th (ironic, no?). While I was figuring out what to have for lunch, a guy approached me and inquired about the DL. It turned out that he had just bought one for himself and was readying it for an Alaskan trip as well! Amazing -I ride 6000 miles without so much as seeing another DL on the road, and then I meet two DL 650 owners in just a couple of days.

I ended up having lunch with my new DL friend and his wife (thanks again for the burrito!) and we talked endlessly about bikes and riding before we went our separate ways. Back on I-5, I continued my journey northward until I hit Route 539, a nice semi-secret way into Canada with a superfast border crossing (unlike the one at I-5, which can take hours). The crossing was painless (they didn't even ask to see any ID!), and I was in Vancouver within about an hour.

I've loved Vancouver ever since I first laid eyes on it five years ago. However, the stars clearly were not aligned for this trip. I had a terrible time finding a hotel (and then my AMEX got brutalized when I did), and didn't end up having a good time, frankly. I really wanted to go out and enjoy my last night in "civilization," but everywhere I went was a let-down. At one point, I even ended up in a bar that had a band playing really, really, really LAME crossover country music that a bunch of drunken chubby girls on the prowl were dancing to (all the guys were sitting around drinking Molson Canadian and Bud Light and looked like they needed a little more "liquid courage" before they could go talk to the girls).

It started raining before I even left town (one last little "fuck you" from the city), and continued as I wound my way north on Route 99 towards Whistler. Between the rain and all the construction I hit, I didn't make it to Whistler until early afternoon. Right around then the rain soaked through my riding pants (I hadn't put the rain liner in, since the weather forecast was for intermittent light rain), which seriously made me consider just bagging on the rest of the day and getting a room somewhere (wet undies will do that). Instead, I decided to press on and ended up being rewarded for it.

Route 99 north of Vancouver is one of the wildest roads I've ever been on. It isn't that technically challenging (although it had many 20 KPH rated turns), rather, you are truly in the wild out there. I drove alone on the road for so long that at one point that I was actually excited to see a car coming in the other direction. Driving through the snow-capped mountains next to roaring rivers with no one else around made me feel sorta like I'd made it to Alaska already.