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Teaser- "Adventure is taking inappropriate Equipment to out of the way places"

Beemer01

New member
Teaser- "Adventure is taking inappropriate Equipment to out of the way places"

On May 22, three bikes and reasonably skilled riders left Chicago to challenge the gods of weather and terrain in the Great White North. Just two bikes limped home under their own power.

The team consisted of a 2005 R1200GS, a 2013 R1200RT and a 2005 Triumph 1050 Sprint. All riders made provisions to change to knobbies in Watson Lake before we tackled 2250 miles of gravel, dirt, mud, ice, snow, washboarded roads, rain, hail, sneet and snow on the Campbell, Dempster, Dalton and Denali.

Notable elements of this 12,600 mile trip include - earthquakes, drifting pea sized hail, record rainfall storms with tornados tossed in for spice, angry mother moose, Grizzlies gorging themselves on dandilions, herds of moose intent on outrunning us, dead caribou, live caribou, ice fog, Hyderization, random road encounters (RRE), roadhouse bands, beer and dining, Black Bears as numerous as housecats and more....................

The trip report with lavish pictures is being crafted..... anyone care to guess which bike came back via motorfreight?






 
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I was going to guess the GS because it is the one that you'd think would be best suited for those roads. :whistle

But then no mention was made as to WHY a bike came back motor freight. Maybe a bear took a liking to one of them resulting in unspeakable things. :laugh
 
The brand new RT...

came back via motorfreight. The needed repair parts were at least a week and air delivery away. The Triumph experienced British Motorcycle electrical problems, but was patched and kludged back together and made it.....the GS turned out to be the support machine for this trip and made it back with only the normal scratches, bumps and bruises.

Details to follow in the Trip Report...................................................................:type


 
Dayum, I saw you guys at the gas stop on the Dalton Highway, by the Yukon river! I was with my son in the tan Jeep. I remember the Sprint. I spoke with a couple when we stopped for gas going back the other way. The woman was astonished when I mentioned the Triumph. She was riding an F800GS but said she had a Sprint as well and hated taking it in a gravel parking lot, let alone hundreds of miles of unpaved roads. There was also a solo guy on a Harley tourer who'd ridden from Tennessee.
 
Okay, you are evidently skilled at marketing . So just a tad more info to entice us to read the full RR. Were the RT's problems mechanical or the result of a mishap?
 
It Starts.....

The shattering rain came abruptly and went just as quickly, the lowering clouds shifted like wraiths in the storms, the wind howled, gusted and then withdrew back to the mountain valleys. Clouds broke, and shafts of sunlight pierced the mist showing the towering rocky crags above us...only to be sharply withdrawn as rain and thunder returned snapping off the light as if a cosmic switch had been thrown.



It was a ride climbing up through the valley of the shadow of death,or a really good facsimile of a chapter in a Tolkien novel. And still we gained altitude and latitude as the wind moaned and the Beemer charged on into the growing battle. The dark forests beckoned as branches blew across the narrow highway only to be crushed under my heavily laden tires.

Coffee, therefore, tasted great when we reached the visitor's center before the Icefields Parkway! It's always somewhat jarring to dismount your bike shivering and stamping off the wet and cold while families of tee shirt and shorts clad children look at you strangely as they dance past in the parking lots.

But I'm getting ahead of myself and our narrative.

Back in January of 2014 I was weighing my next big trip... would it be Mexico to the South or back to try and get to Inuvik, Northwest Territory again in the Great White North. A Canadian riding acquaintance was murdered a year or so ago while soloing in Mexico, so I decided on one last shot at Inuvik and the Arctic Ocean instead of the better food and legitimate margaritas down there.

I invited a couple of friends on this trip, one is a secret agent/Captain America...Thomas - who works in some very Senior DOD IT security related role in Washington DC and the other is a semi-retired operations guy-Fran - with a colorful background that includes multiple Iron Butt certificates, MSF instructor experience and is a skilled track rider with teaching certificates there as well...he is also a pretty good wrench if things were to get pear shaped on this trip.

And experience gleaned from an earlier 2009 attempt taught me that if things can go wrong up there they will. Marginal equipment, poor design and flaky electrics will all be problematic....... it's just a matter of what will fail and how serious the consequences will be. And your repair options can be few.

Or none as it turned out.

Surprising to me, both guys accepted almost at once with only a few of the usual caveats. (I had actually expected to be doing this trip solo, so was delighted to have the company and support. Solo riding on some of those roads is just a bad idea for someone with my limited technical and mechanical skills)

I work in the consulting field, so am accustomed to having my considered advice ignored..I have thick skin.

I explained why I had purchased a BMW R1200GS with aluminum panniers, had installed a new rear shock set up for this trip, had purchased knobbies to be installed up there, why I added obscene amounts of axillary lighting, why I was packing additional fuel and why I had taken the BMW off-road riding course down in Spartanburg, South Carolina.

Both gentlemen listened carefully and then generally proceeded to ignore my counsel.

Except for the tires, they kinda paid attention to that. Sorta. And lighting - Thomas and I have on ongoing Lumen arms race. I'm still winning.

These are the bikes that made the trip. Three left, two returned on their own power.




Thomas decided to take his almost brand new BMW R1200RT on the trip and Fran decided to see if this could be done on a well broken in sport bike.

I know, really?

As I pushed back, it became a matter of proving a point... as Fran said, any yuppie POS could do this journey on an overfarkled BMW GS.

Point taken.

I had a premonition that we would not return with the same number of bikes we left Chicago with.

We all agreed last winter that in the event of a complete mechanical failure, or a bone sticking through the skin kind of injury that the other riders would get the damaged bike or injured rider to a safe place with options and the rider and bike would be left. The ride must go on.

We left Chicago together and separately meeting up outside of Madison, Wisconsin at 7:00AM. After spending absurd amounts of time over preparing my bike, I discovered that I had now a dying battery. Yeah, buying skid plates and wiring in aux lighting is more fun than buying a new battery. I had to jump my Beemer from my Bimmer in the driveway. Embarrassing, but I arrived on time.


Day One 875 miles Chicago to The Badlands, SD.

We settled into the ride...some crosswinds, but I've seen worse in Southern Minnesota and South Dakota. For this trip I bought and activated a Spot transponder. At least I thought I'd activated it.

When I checked our breadcrumb track on the page I'd sent to everyone, I discovered that something was amiss. The screen showed a single point... still at my house. I was in South Dakota now. I dug the Spot manual out of my tankbag and searched fruitlessly for the solution. I decided to call Spot's help line and was routed to a French guy who spoke very heavily accented English.

Caveat / I know Spot is a completely global product and they must have a couple of call centers with native speakers in the major languages around the Globe. But I was pissed and not a good customer at this point. The help desk guy informed me that there was a problem with my "Charpaage" setup. I listed impatiently and finally told him that 1. I don't speak French and 2. I have absolutely no idea who or what a "Charpaage" is.

I think I hung up on the poor guy, now worried that I'd purchased a faulty Spot and that people tracking me would think I'd never left Chicago., and the folks back home would think that this whole thing was a farce.

This conversation is being held on a Sena Headset in a gas station parking lot in South Dakota, with my amused co-riders listening in on half of the conversation.

Note and embarrassed disclaimer. NEVER, EVER BUY FANCY ELECTRONICS LIKE A GPS, CAMERA, HERO VIDEO RECORDER OR SPOT WITHOUT NOT ONLY TESTING THEM FOR FUNCTIONALITY, BUT PRACTICING USING THEM EXTENSIVELY BEFORE A TRIP SUCH AS THIS.

The fault was 100% mine, another help desk person was able to assist me later by hacking my incorrectly set up Share page (I'd also failed to remember my passwords) and activating the tracking button. Apologies to everyone involved.

Back to the story.

We made the Badlands by early evening, so stopped at the Restaurant in the park for dinner . The food was pretty good, the beer cold and the service was passable...until the holiday crowds grew at the doorway. No fault of the staff, they were simply not enough of them to handle the crush!



Camp was set up quickly, at least for Thomas and me. Fran took a little longer, I assured him that in a couple of days he'd be an old hand at this.

Our neighbor in the orange tent seen in the background in the picture was a young French lad who was bicycling across America .. into the wind .. from East to West. He was fairly chatty - riding solo does that to you - and asked about the lands and dangers to the West. I thoughtfully said that the only thing I'd be worried about in the Rockies were Mountain Lions. He looked a bit alarmed, he'd never heard of this. I explained that they were slightly smaller than their African cousins, but could still run at over 30 MPH and big enough to take down a cow. Or a Bicyclist.

He looked quite concerned as he returned to his tent. I fully intended to tell him in the morning that I had exaggerated the menace, but he'd already left. Man...I did not do my share this day to improve Franco-American relations.
 
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Well so far great story. Looking forward to more.

But your mountain lion story to the bicyclist wasn't an exaggeration. While rare, mountain lions have taken down mountain bikers with fatal results. At least two incidents near me in SoCal. One fatal, one almost fatal.
 
More More More!

Yeah, I'll vouch for the mountain lion caution - if you're slow and look like food, you can have a problem. SoCal has had many instances of adults, kids, and pets being stalked. (Bears just go through the garbage and lounge in the pool.)

Question - On the Trump and the RT, how did the mag wheels hold up?
 
Here in the foothills of the Rockies of Alberta and BC we have a variant of the Mountain Lion, our Cougars can and will hunt lone humans on foot and bicycle. Fatal encounters are somewhat rare but do happen.
 
Day Two - to Red Lodge

I awoke to the sounds of Thomas and Fran packing up their camping gear. I upzipped my sleeping bag, reached over and opened the valve on my sleeping pad and got moving. Dawn in the South Dakota Badlands is fascinating and beautiful.I always feel like I'm riding in a Dr. Seuss book when I'm there. We were pretty quiet, mindful of other campers, packing our bikes and were soon rolling over to Wall SD, watched intently by Prairie Dogs on adjacent grassy knolls.





Wall, SD consists simply of a handful of motels, the Wall Drug megaplex, a couple of gas stations and one so-so restaurant. (If there are more there I've never found them.) Avoiding the Wall Drug empire, we selected the restaurant, it seems like I'm a regular there over the years. Service, coffee and food were all just average. Fran did note that his coffee was cold when served, somehow mine - served from the same pot at the same time - was warm, but weak. Anyhow we spent too much time there, we'd eventually realize that Breakfasts were time wasters and cut them out.



Thomas did demonstrate his elan and fashion sense by wearing an ascot. I'm comfortable in saying that his was the only Ascot worn in the entire region that day. I think the 17 year old waitress was impressed. Or confused. Or just wondered who we actually were....

We hit the Slab over to Gillette, WY and grabbed 14/16 through the back country. We saw the usual curious antelope watching us motor by, but then encountered quite a lengthy stretch of the road under reconstruction. Probably a good training session for all of us I thought as I watched the other bikes bump and plow thru the mess of mud and loose gravel. All of us had street tires on at this point, so the word fun wasn't used to describe that section. Fran later disclosed that it was horrible for him on the Triumph, he prayed that once the knobby front tire he had on the back of his bike was installed, that the gravel handling would improve. Dramatically.

Did I mention that Fran had also decided that he would run this entire trip with a car tire on the back of his Triumph Sprint? This decision led to many moments on the journey. It certainly did not improve his braking ability on anything other than perfectly dry paved roads. Handling proved to be "interesting" in his words. I should mention here that he had as well installed a 3.5 gallon auxillary fuel tank behind his pillion seat on a platform that appeared to be supported by two pieces of electrical conduit screwed and bolted into place. He swore that this fuel setup worked great on his previous Iron Butt trips?..yeah, we'll see.

We got to Ranchester, WY planning on taking Alt 14A over the Bighorn Mountains only to discover that the heavy winter snows were still blocking some of the route, according to an electric billboard sign on the West edge of town. We returned to Ranchester, trying to get more current information at the gas station.

Have you ever noticed that many of the people who work at these gas stations know almost nothing of the world more than 20 miles away? We got vague information, the woman thought that 14 should be open, but that Alt 14A was still closed but she wasn't sure. So we gambled and rerouted a bit South on 14.

A couple of years ago I'd ridden these roads about the same time of year and learned that if the mountains are draped in clouds, it's time to gear up, plug in and hope for the best. That was again true as we gained altitude. We noticed that there were quite a few cars pulled off in a scenic overlook area watching a Hang Gliding competition, there we met an old Hippie, "High Country" who was spending a day watching the Gliders launch and soar off the mountain and over the plains below.

High Country does look like Fran's long lost brother

14 is a great road, but as I had guessed as we gained altitude the temps dropped and the clouds lowered. Snow and fog weren't far behind. Thomas reported over the Sena that the lowest he saw on his RT's digital thermometer was 46 degrees with blowing fog .but the roads were clear if not dry.

We turned North towards Red Lodge and lit the wick a bit, restrained only by the presence of Tar Snakes on the curves. Nonetheless we had some spirited riding. Since Fran is the motorcycle track instructor, we let him take the lead.. it was 'interesting' watching that rear car tire on the curves, which usually meant that he was riding on the edge of the tire. He kept a good speed up, based more on skill than traction.

When riding, you notice even slight changes in temperatures and you certainly notice the smells of the forest, damp cedar, wet pines, moss emerging from snowbanks all combined for a near sensory overload. We followed a wonderful valley that paralleled a rushing stream and finally emerged into sunlight at lower altitudes.

A bright sun warms better than all the heated gear in the world.



Red Lodge, MT is a cool little town that seems to get more sophisticated every time I pass through. We pitched camp at the KOA North of town and the newest owners recommended a gourmet Taco place near the town center for dinner. This place is built in what appears to be an old Gas Station, they have daily specials and we can heartily recommend it. Parking for bikes right alongside! Tell em we sent you. It's not in YELP, and I'm pretty sure the owner doesn't care.



Cigars and scotch again around the campfire. Scotch is running low. This is serious.
 
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Day Three - Red Lodge to Flathead Lake MT.

We got ready early. Fran suddenly realized that the Famous Beartooth Pass had opened for the season yesterday... that he'd never ridden it and that it was just a few miles away! Thomas, nursing a sore back from an old war injury opted to lounge around morning camp and Fran and I headed off to take a run to the summit. I removed some of the already packed gear from my panniers to reduce weight and laid it to the side to warm and dry off in the sun.

As we rolled through Red Lodge, they were advertising a mini marathon- sure enough there were runners of all ages, genders and shapes running and slogging up the road out of town towards the pass road. Serious respect for these folks, running (or walking in some cases) at these altitudes can take it out of you quickly. We rode past cautiously until it was evident that the race was not actually to the summit, we amped up the speed when the last runner (first runner?) disappeared in our rear view mirrors.

What a magnificent morning, sunlight peeked thru the trees only occasionally as we rode up the West side of the mountain... winding our way up to the 11,000 foot top. The sunlight was blindingly bright - cross country skiers were out and having early morning fun in the deep snows at the summit this morning. We turned around and headed back down the mountain, Fran had activated a borrowed Go-Pro camera rig he'd borrowed to film our way down. However he neglected to check the lens and there was a large very dead bug splattered across the plastic shield. No footage. (See earlier comment about practicing with new technology BEFORE leaving on the trip!).

Fran loves to play racerboy sometimes, this time he switched off his ignition and started to coast the entire 20+ miles down the mountain. I slipped into neutral and tried to follow. It was immediately evident that my GS has the aerodynamic profile of a garden shed as Fran's sleek sportbike disappeared around a curve far ahead of me. I eventually shifted into gear so I could catch up before we reached Red Lodge.

I'm a really organized guy most of the time. When we got back to the campsite I went to repack and could not for the life of me find my inflatable sleeping pad. Years of camping has taught me that everything has its place -and it was not in its place. I searched the campsite, and even rechecked my panniers - gone. And of course neither Fran nor Thomas had packed it in error. Damn. It must have been stolen while I was up at the Pass?!? Sure didn't seem likely. I shrugged and wondered if I'd be passing a camping store this day where I could buy a replacement.

We rolled out of the campground towards the Absarokee Cutoff (78) and as I turned left onto the two lane highway I glanced down... there was my rolled up pad (10" x 5" rolled up) lying in the weeds alongside the road, barely even visible. I must have placed it on my bike when heading off with Fran and it had fallen off when we left for Beartooth Pass. What a lucky fluke that I even saw it! Hell, it's a miracle. I pulled over, put it in the proper place in the right side pannier and we resumed our trip.

78 is a magnificent road on a Spring Morning and, as per usual, I never slow down to get any pictures. We did stop for gas at the only station on this stretch of 78 (Absarokee cutoff), and as the leader of this merry bunch I promptly took the wrong road out of the station and led them on a 20 mile trip up a dead end road..my only possible excuse was a lack of coffee... and that this was a really scenic sidetrip. You would think that me with the $600 GPS shouldn't be digging for excuses.

We reached Columbus MT, and picked up 90 for the long ride to Missoula and then to Flathead Lake (The largest lake West of the Mississippi), so this would be a 590 mile day... we were slacking! We pulled into Polson, MT, looking for a place to eat.. at this point were still in the Breakfast and dinner only mode. This would later degrade to dinner only and later to just almonds, five hour energy drinks and beef jerky)

There isn't much to Polson, so the quick pass through didn't surface any interesting local type restaurants. I did see a Pizza Hut and a quick conference on the headsets confirmed that that would have to do. I pulled a U turn, availing myself to an adjacent parking lot. The town's only working hooker was standing there... convinced that all three of us had turned around just for the chance to meet her! She mustered her best smile and showed me some leg..and we motored right past her.

I was the only guy who even noticed her business development efforts this late afternoon.

The Pizza was adequate (guys from Chicago are tough customers when it comes to pizza), but the beer was cold and the service was engaging.

We rode a bit further North to the State Campground which was, of course, packed with Memorial Day campers. We snagged one of the last spots, paid our $20 and pitched our tents. Fran was getting incrementally faster in setting up his kit, though I still couldn't figure out how that noisy electric pump would still take ten minutes to inflate his pool toy sleeping pad?

Thomas and I enjoyed a cigar and a scotch before retiring for the evening. Scotch now critically low. Must remember to buy more in the USA before we cross into Canada tomorrow!
 
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Day Four Flathead Lake to McBride BC via the Icefields Parkway

During the previous night I discovered that I now have a leak in my 'serious top of the line' inflatable sleeping pad. Fran's $3 pool toy was holding up just fine. Fortunately I remembered that my pad comes with a leak repair kit and I had a perfectly calm lake just a few feet away. Fran assisted as I stood in the cold lake in my actually waterproof Boots and I found the hole without too much hassle..a leak had developed at a seam on the end, I carefully put rubber cement on the seam and hoped for the best!

A harbinger of things to come?

Future trips will include packing cans, not tubes, of rubber cement.

A side note here, Thomas is Army, so he packs heavy by my standards. His frame of reference has always seemed to be that a M35 Cargo Truck is always the default way to carry gear, so more is better. Nearly a decade of occasionally riding with me has caused him to lighten this load quite a bit, but old habits die hard. Fran on the other hand is only an occasional camper, so things that roll right off my back sometimes bother him. Like packing up wet gear. I assured him that packing a wet tent and fly was fine, it'll dry out the next day, he remained unconvinced for the entire trip, always looking for mold and mildew on his nylon tent.

We rolled out and rolled North heading towards the Icefields Parkway. While gassing up enroute Fran chatted up a Solo Female rider with Alaska plates on her bike. She had new friends whether she wanted us or not, as she was heading the same direction as we were. A sign of things to come?

I'm pretty sure she proceeded to do her level best to loose us for the rest of the day, finally succeeding a few hundred miles later.

As we took the turnoff to the Icefields Parkway the clouds lowered as we gained altitude and the wind and rain howled around us. The Icefields Parkway is simply stunning as is the approach road. (I noted that since my last trip in 2009 the authorities had erected elaborate tall fences and built fantastic overhead migratory pathways for the local Fauna to be protected from the likes of cars, trucks and motorcycles. I also have to wonder how many collisions there had been to find the money to build out this level of wildlife protection!) Thomas speaking with some German Tourists at the Icefields visitor Center in perfect German. I think.

Fran was cold riding the Parkway, which given that he was wearing shorts under his riding suit shouldn't have been too surprising. He commented that I hadn't warned him in advance about the cold, I asked what in the name 'Icefields Parkway' had confused him? Anyhow we passed our first Glacier and the ambient temps dipped down to 35F. I cranked up my heated everything and was comfortable as the dizzying mountain views swirled in and out of sight.


We passed through Jasper and made it as far as McBride, BC where we stopped for dinner at a Chinese/Western restaurant.

There are a lot of Chinese/Western Restaurants up there. A lot. And don't get your hopes up, neither variety of food is very good. Fran abhors Chinese food, so ordered something "Western" and Thomas and I ordered Chinese. Same Kitchen, same cook = same food. There may have been chicken in our dishes, but it was very, very hard to find. And may have died from old age...and may not have been chicken.

We camped that night in a local campground, nice grassy areas. I'd previously ridden through this area at night. I would never repeat that night riding experience, daylight is better. In 2009 there were wandering Moose, Deer and Bears, illuminated only by my headlight, on the Yellowhead Highway............ and in 2014 I got to see them by daylight..it's better by day, your survival odds improve a bit.

I forgot to buy Scotch back Stateside, so killed a bottle of Jack Daniels by the fire. Not a great idea after a bad meal.
 
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Day Five

My pounding hangover was exacerbated by the sound of steel on steel and wheels spinning not far from my head. I was also sleeping on a deflated sleeping pad, as the fix had either not held or I had a new hole. I think there was frost on the seat of my patiently waiting bike.

I staggered out of my tent and set about making coffee on my campstove. VIA! from Starbucks long ago replaced my ground coffee and coffee press for camping. It's certainly good enough, and saves space and weight in my packs and panniers. The spinning tires that woke me were from a Nissan Truck that was sporting a "USN retired" plate on the front bumper. The retired Navy guy was in an embarrassing situation, quietly trying to figure out what to do after he ran over a bright orange painted truck wheel that had been placed to demarcate a RV camping spot and high centered his Nissan. We drank our coffee and decided to go over and offer assistance before he ruined his transfer case and woke up the rest of the still slumbering campground. His wife, dressed in a housecoat had emerged from their parked trailer, and was offering unhelpful advice.

Thomas, turned out in a gray ARMY Tee-shirt had the line of the day "Sir... I realize it's very rare for the Army to offer to help out the Navy, but can we lend a hand?" We were soon jacking up the truck and pulled the offending orange truck wheel out from the undercarriage. We lowered the vehicle back down and once all four wheels had contact with terra firma, all was good.

We had another cup of coffee and I discovered that my bike battery was dead. Again.

Our new friend in the Nissan was summoned, he soon docked his truck and trailer next to my somnolent Beemer, someone produced the requisite jumper cables and my bike was sparked to life. OK, this was not good and I'd have to find a new battery. Crap.

We rode out of Town, and my memory had not failed me. This stretch of the Yellowhead Highway is crowded with wildlife. I recall seeing Black Bears, a herd of Caribou and a Mother Moose with her adorable calf, which couldn't have been more than a few hours old based on the wobbly legs. I stopped to observe not more than 15 feet from this new family. Mom was not amused and dealing with a protective Moose with post-partum issues was not on our agenda for the day. When she snorted and advanced towards us we got the message and left post haste.



Not only had my battery been dead that frosty morning, I now realized that I was now sucking fumes, bingo on fuel. No worries, my $700 Garmin assured me that there was fuel just a few miles ahead. RANT. Garmin's fuel finder is essentially useless, telling you that there is fuel available in stations that shut down 20 years ago, and telling you that there is no fuel for hundreds of miles ahead when you are sitting at the operating pumps of a station that had been in business since 1970. It might work fine in cities, where you don't need it, but don't bet your trip on in where you do need it. In this case there was no fuel in the location they had directed me to. And I was out. And, of course, had not yet filled my aux fuel cans. This was serious... that moody moose was just a few miles back!

Fran to the rescue, he did have a couple of gallons in his Auxiliary fuel rig, he disconnected the fuel line, turned a valve and he filled my 1 liter fuel container in a matter of a minute or so. Epic save, and not for the last time on this trip.

I was able to gas up down the road a piece and we made it to Prince George, BC for breakfast, 120 or so miles. We stopped at another Chinese/Western restaurant that seemed to have a few locals there for their daily coffee. We trooped in and Fran, in his usual style entertained the local boys with his banter and antics.

Fran then discovered that the reason he'd been so cold this morning is that he'd broken a wire on his electric vest and shorted out the system. Which would necessitate a visit to an auto parts store, which was fortunately just around the corner (with directions provided by Fran's audience.) We were also assured that it would be literally impossible to reach Ft. Nelson on a motorcycle in a day. Right. Game on, we'd show these boys how Americans do it.

Fran went to the auto parts store, bought fuses, repaired his shorted system and placed the extra fuses in his luggage where they vanished into the chaos of his luggage never to be seen again.

We topped off and were soon on the legendary Alaska Highway heading North by Northwest. I had recalled that this stretch of the Alcan was fast and wide. My memory proved to be accurate... we burned up the miles running at 75+MPH. Have I noted that my loaded bike has the aerodynamic profile of a barn door.... I don't think I get better than 40MPG in stretches like this.



We pulled into Fort Nelson, again on fumes. We stopped at a combination gas station/motel/Cstore run by a Chinese family, and after fueling up asked where there was a camp ground in town. One family member who was better with her English paused and then directed us to the other end of town. Her older sister interjected that THEY ran a campground right behind the store and it was only $10, a special deal for us!

Yeah, a vacant lot with weeds...but you gotta admire her entrepreneurial moxy. We dined on A&W burgers and fries, Fran got his precious Root Beer and we headed to the other edge of town. Which took all of five minutes.

There, on the left, was the same campground I'd stayed at a few years back. A bit more worn around the edges, but it'll work just fine. We found the ubiquitous grassy section to the back which bordered on a creek. We pitched our tents, swatting away the first mosquitos we'd seen on this trip. Oh, yeah there were to be more. This was close to a 700 mile day.

Things were running right and tight - tomorrow Watson Lake, new knobbies and off into the endless gravel, mud and dirt of the Yukon!

The Yukon can kick your butt. Ask Sargent Preston.
 
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Day Six - Watson Lake Yukon

On to Watson Lake. Short day, gotta allow for tire changes to knobbies! The Alcan from Fort Nelson to Watson Lake is WAAAY more interesting, lots of grade changes, still frozen lakes, Toad River, wooden bridges and looming mountains.

Somewhere on this stretch of road we passed and then met a bunch of guys who were headed off to a secret location for Gold Mining. They had purchased an old school bus and outfitted it with a wood stove, swinging hammocks, canned goods and a half a dozen or so chickens...which were riding in an old cattle trough in the back of the bus.... clucking and laying eggs as we stood there. The other vehicle in their decidedly ragtag caravan was a pickup truck, hauling a trailer with a small dozer. Yep, this looked like an adventure! We chatted for a while, wished them the best and pushed off.




I offered Fran and Thomas a chance to stop at the Hot Springs off the Alcan to wash off road dust, but they were hot to get to Watson Lake and start slinging rubber.



We pulled into the parking lot of the soon to be Famous Air Force Lodge just after lunchtime, quickly found Thomas' tires that were sent in advance and the process of changing tires in gravel and dust began. Michael, who runs the Lodge, wasn't there so we commandeered his picnic table for the job and generally spread our stuff out across several parking spots. Neither Thomas nor I had ever changed a tire before i.e. deflating the actual tire and dismounting from the wheel assembly, with hand levers, reversing the procedure with new stiff tires and reinflating the tire with portable electric air compressors. This is at least a two man job, three is better. Lots of dish soap or KY to lube everything up is a great idea too.



Somewhere during this process I rode down the street to an industrial supply store to get a replacement bolt for my front brake caliper (which had mysteriously vanished causing the left front rotor to shift to an odd angle) and to see if by some miracle, they would have a replacement 12V motorcycle battery. I was stunned to find that they had both, though I think I paid dearly for them. I'll never cross check those prices. But both items worked just fine.

You can't put a price on peace of mind..and tomorrow we were going to head out of civilization where there would be no bolts and batteries. Or Gasoline. At any price.

Anyhow, five hours later we declared victory, and after pre-washing up OUTSIDE as per Michael's instructions, we then removed our boots and really washed and showered up before going out to dinner at one of the two options for dinners in Watson Lake.

They didn't serve beer. OMG... so we just headed back to the AF Lodge to get some sleep, pulling the shades down to get a little darkness in the land of the Midnight Sun.

Things felt good ... we were ready for the Campbell Highway! We thought. We were completely wrong.

 
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