Camping at the End of the Earth (or at least Nova Scotia)

After riding the length of U.S. 1 up the coast of Maine, I crossed into Canada and made a dash across New Brunswick. Actually, "dash" wouldn't exactly be correct - the province is really pretty big. I spent the night in the lovely town of Moncton, NB, then headed south into Nova Scotia the next morning.

I managed to make it to Sydney by late afternoon and then proceeded to get hopelessly lost on some backroads while looking for the campground where I had a reservation (one wrong turn actually had me turning right into someone's driveway while they stared at me from their front porch in bewilderment). I ended up just following the water until I came upon the little village of River Ryan and found the campground completely by accident. It was a cozy little private campground and the hosts gave me a nice spot right by the water.

Lobster Roll

Last year I tormented you all with pictures of great BBQ. Since New England isn't really a BBQ place, I bring you the local delicacy: the Lobster Roll.

This particular Lobster Roll was purchased from the On A Roll truck parked on the side of U.S. 1 just north of York. This was one of the best meals of my life - no exaggeration.

Feel free to drool.

On the Road Again

Whoo-hoo! It sure is nice to be back on the DL eating up miles. I am riding up the coast of Maine into Canada now. Last year, I rode as far west in North America as you can on paved roads without getting on a boat, and this year I'm aiming to ride as far east as possible, which will take me just outside of Sydney, Nova Scotia.

While I have ridden small chunks of the Maine coastline before, this time I aim to ride all of U.S. 1 up the coast - no I-95 for me!

Here's a little taste of the coast in the town of York. It is very charming, and the DL really completes the scenery for me.

One Year Later

My goodness, has it been a year already? Time sure flies.

The past year has seen me spending an inordinate amount of time staring off into space revisiting the trip last year. The first few weeks back were actually kind of tough - I couldn't get used to being in one place, even if that place was my own apartment. Once I went back to work, however, I got used to being back and my time on the road seemed like a dream. Occasionally I would go to this blog just to make sure that the trip had actually happened.

The company I went back to work for underwent a series of shakeups and restructurings starting a couple of months after I got back, and the ensuing instability made me start longing for the road again. Or perhaps it was just the gnawing feeling that I hadn't really finished the trip I went on last year. After all, I hadn't ridden the northeastern U.S. or the Atlantic provinces of Canada (don't get me started on Central America - I do want to ride down to the Panama Canal someday, but Mexico and most of the region are just too fucked up for a gringo to ride solo in my opinion).

By the time the one-year anniversary of the start of my trip rolled around, I was spending a lot of time looking at maps again, this time looking longingly at Nova Scotia. I eventually left my job for a variety of reasons, and my first day of unemployment was the one-year anniversary of my return to NYC. By then I had a rough idea of what I wanted to do: keep on riding the Americas.

Ride ON!

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!