Such is life in motel land, I was sat on my step trying to get a signal when a bike arrives. Zanka was from Bulgaria but now lives in LA. Just bought a '93 Firebalde from Chicago. "Tell me about your self David". I retreated. Morning and with the railroad in the background we talked." I am a motivational speaker"...Right. "Thinking is the pinnacle of the male mind". Right. "You must see The Secret - have you seen it ?" No. "Then see Earl Nightingale's The Strangest Secret...you can do anything David". Right. I headed off.
Colorado has a fantastic backdrop. Its the American ski area (think Aspen). I headed for the mountains and wasn't disappointed. The road to Silverton (an old mining town) was partly blocked by a rock slide so I had to wait for the one hour the road opened. Slowed me down but I did get see a great waterfall.
They describe this part of Colorado as a mini Switzerland. Makes sense.
With a very squared off rear tyre and a blinking oil light, I decided it was time for a service. Found a place at Grand Junction just a few miles from where I was staying. I just turned up. They were happy to help. Will take an hour. Took all day. Still I got to talk to a lot of other bikers - 90% of which were Harley riders including a bloke in a leather cap, waist coat and cuban heels who had just bought this for $36K (c. £24K).
He was 70 years old and had 20 other Harley's. Later Jersey Steve turned up. His throttle cable was broke - simple problem other than his monkey hanger bars required a cable about six foot long. So he was waiting. Used to be in a member of the Bandidos and been inside for a while. Now married to a native Indian. "Don't do BMW's - I'm too short".
With the hosepipe length throttle cable fitted, Jersey Steve made his way. Just after this pic he tried to swing his leg over the bike with some difficultly. "Goddamn leg, I lost it back in '93. As I lay by the bike, I said to this bloke - go and get my boot will ya?. Steve, I ain't picking that up its still got yer leg in it". Showed me his leg. Looked like the aftermath of a shark attack. Pointed the wrong way too.
Small niggle of US ways is needing to pay in advance for fuel. This applies if you pay by card and do not have a ZIP code. So, I guess on what I need to fill up. Not easy for a bike with a small tank. So, I headed off having only filled to three quarters ("I love your accent"). Once again the road was a gem. Second gear switchbacks around vertical rock faces
I briefed entered Colorado before returning to Utah to visit the Arches NP - an area shaped by millions of years of erosion. Huge statues of sandstone dominate the landscape which is constantly changing as a result of the unstable bedrock underground and the merciless elements above.
Although the park is famous for its arches, I found other examples of the eroded shapes more dramatic - take the balancing stone.
As I was riding through, my fuel was low & my oil light came on so I couldn't doodle too long. Plus the temperature was 33C. Too hot for me in helmet and jacket (which few other bikers wore).
From today I'm heading east. For me, west is best. That's not a political statement. Just a DRS theory. In the US that's the "how the west was won" story. Same applies to the history of the UK, Ireland, Canada (maybe), France, Australia (broadly)......etc etc. In each instance, the west side of a given country tends to be wilder, more mountainous and less governable & therefore less developed. There are of course many exceptions (e.g Spain, Germany) but I like the theory so, if in doubt, go west.
"Hey, where you from?"... "The UK". "I told you Frank that guy sounds just like that Bear Grylls". I was in Pinedale, Wyoming heading south. That roads from Jackson to Pinedale were great twisting by horse and beef ranches advertising white water adventures.
The two blokes at the filling stop in Pinedale strolled across and shook my hand slowly and very firmly each with hands the size of dinner plates. "What do you get out of this thing?"..pointing at the bike.."I can get over 50 mpg" I offered (proud of my new high score). "Seen many animals along the way?"..."well there's plenty of deer around here"..."that's because they're migrating - you're fine as long as you keep your engine smooth. Them deer don't like surprises". Right.
I was heading for Utah and the landscape was changing again. The lush, rolling farmland and fast flowing rivers is replaced by drier, unforgiving landscapes reminiscent of the big cowboy westerns.
You feel close to the desert. The landscape is harsher, steeper and more dramatic (like the approach to the Sahara via the Atlas). Temperature peaked at 32C and stayed there but was moderated a little by strong, gusty side winds. Then as you start to climb higher, the road returns to switchbacks and suddenly opens up to reveal an oasis of colour as far as the eye can see. They call this dinosaur country (as many prints & bones have been found).
I was on the back roads so there was little traffic noise bar the occasional truck grinding through the gears An osprey nonchalantly flapped by as I took this shot. Nearby a pair of hawks soared in the thermals (swainson's hawks I think). I could also hear an ominous rattle from near to where the bike stood. Reminded me this is rattle snake country.
In Walmart later buying my pale ales in Vernal, the young girl on the checkout cheerily asked "Can I see some ID sir?". Made my day.
The ride from Jackson to Yellowstone takes you through the Grand Teton NP. In hindsight, it was as memorable as Yellowstone. The Teton range is a wall of rock created by tectonic plates moving along a fault line and it dominates the landscape as you travel north.
And let there be no doubt the road north to Yellowstone is the tourist trail. Overfilled hire cars with Japanese tourists jostled with furry faced, tattooed men in cut off t-shirts with over-wide V8 trucks & V8 guts.The former will stop with no notice to take shots of each other. The latter will drive extremely slowly & take hugely extravagant manoeuvres when turning left or right. All driving no faster than 45 mph.
Think Yellowstone, think geezers, think Old Faithful. The NP is scattered with hundreds of geysers & hot springs but the dependable one is OF. So, having followed the cavalcade of tourists to said geezer, I was much amused to find long lines of size 20 plus backsides sat on benches as far as the eye could see in front of OF's steaming hole. Very Monty Pythonesque I thought. I walked off to see the more camera shy geezers. Is it possible to use the words hot, sulphurous & colourful without resorting to fart humour ?
Still, give him his due, when OF did let rip, it was impressive.
Geezers and random tourists aside (of which I am part), Yellowstone is a beautiful place. You are always reminded that this is a volcanic place. It creates an unique environment - river fishing with steaming geezers in the background.
I travelled back via Yellowstone which is at 2400M and still largely frozen.
NB pet hate for the long term budget hotel man is American cars that still have alarms that beep when you lock or unlock them (technology from the 1990s I recall). So late on, people arrive back from their fast food troughs and beep to lock. Then beep to unlock/lock to get what they've forgot. Repeat. Repeat for 30 plus cars. I am moments away from opening door naked and shouting "we live in the XXin 21st century, why do you need a beep to tell you your cars locked. Do you need a beep to tell you to have a dump!...". Perhaps not.
From Salmon, I headed south for the Sawtooth national park. Idaho has the best roads so far with winding roads following fast flowing rivers taking you from open plains into the mountains. The Sawtooth range did not disappoint. Great scenery passed as I navigated rock strewn hairpins whilst trying to spot red-winging blackbirds & golden crowned sparrows (had to stop in the end).
This area originally attracted white settlers for the fur then the gold then the land. Given the ruggedness of the terrain making home here was always going to be a challenge. East of the Sawtooth range is no easier. It leads into a lava field called "The Craters of the Moon" which, I read, played havoc with waggons and horses. No such problems for me but as I headed further east beyond the lava fields a new peril emerged. The endless desert highway. This was the first time I had ridden east properly and the landscape changes again. No trees, no bushes, no bends in the road, no animals, no people - just road. After a hundred miles or so, I was reducing to singing Stray Cats songs (Rumble in Brighton) & refusing to do anything that could jeopardise my best ever MPG score (which currently stands at 52).
Thankfully I was saved (once again) by the mountains as I started to climb up into the Grand Teton range. In the background to the north is Yellowstone where I'm heading tomorrow.
Must go. Need to do my washing. Sounds hasty but it is week three and you can only wear clothes inside out for so long. Here's a bike shot for good measure.
As you travel south you notice changes. The pine forests are thinning out. Farmers' fields start to emerge. The landscape softens whilst the backdrop of the snow capped peaks of the Rockies remains. Montana has beautiful sweeping scenery but is somehow less impactful having witnessed the scale of the Canadian Rockies. I guess you have a different perspective if you're traveling north.
Bigfork was having their biggest event of the year. Its a holiday weekend and kayakers from all over have hit town for their annual jamboree. Bigfork has one of the early hydro-electro plants meaning the river is artificially narrowed to power the turbines and as a happy consequence a fast flowing white water channel is created. After watching many a bearded teenage capsize, I headed up river to avoid the crowds. Good merganser country (hooded that is).
In the moring, I was heading back into Idaho and Indian country (the road passes through a reserve). That means more tee pees, buffalo (or is it bison) & gun shops. It also means twisty roads. My squared off back tyre tells the sad tale of too many long, straight roads. Idaho has hairpin bends and I'm happy. It also has big flowing rivers - this is the Salmon.
The town of Salmon, Idaho is a one street, cowpoke town where there's a shop that repairs stetsons and chaps. It does have a fine micro brewery (Bertram's run by a south African) where I talked shite about IPAs (they had to brew them strong so they would survive transit to India) for a number of hours. By the river, I also found it has great moths (not sure what they are but they're as big as your hand).
Had a welcome break from sitting on a saddle all day & decide to sit on another saddle. Hired a mountain bike in Banff. Unfortunately for the DRS derriere, my choice of a hard tail wasn't wise. The tracks were rough and rocky. After 20K of spine pounding I was grateful to be back on the motorbike. Still great views (albeit sore arse).
To finish the day, I walked a mile or so up to the local Hoodoos - rock formations caused by erosion. I also followed a lone wolf for a while trying to get a good photo. We eyeballed each other a number of times. Not sure why but I felt there was a mutual respect.
Only remedy after all that was a soak so the next day I headed for Radium Hot Springs. There are many natural hot springs but this is one of the better known. Natural temperature in the water is 28C.
Today (Friday), I left Canada & entered the US via Idaho. I choose a quieter crossing point (Kingsgate). There was still an hour's wait before I was finger printed & photoed. At customs, there was a certain amount of looking at the passport, looking at me, repeat as the bright red biking head & gingery grey beard told another story.
Temperature today in Montana was 29C.
After the obligatory buggering around needed when paying a speeding ticket (find federal office, get postal order with cash, return), I set off. Today is my last day in BC. Before I entered Alberta, I passed Mt. Robson - the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies at just under 4K. metres.
I was heading for Jasper into the heart of the Rockies & was soon surrounded by 3K metres plus peaks in every direction. Quite a backdrop. There were other big things too.
The Grizzly makes the black bear look like a teddy. Its bigger, moves faster & has deader eyes. I was told by a Canadian that tourists (typically German - his words) get into trouble with Grizzlies every year. His advice was always have a German tourist between you and the bear. I did this.
The Icefields Parkway between Jasper and Banff takes you high. I'd imagine here the peaks are permanently snow covered.
Its a great road. No need to go fast here.
Today is a Canadian Bank Holiday (Victoria Day). The roads are quiet. Seems most people prefer to stay at home.I head off towards Prince George & the central Rocky Mountains. The road connects one lake after another (Moberly, Mackenzie, McLeod, Summit) through the endless pine forest. Stopped at a roadside waterfall;
and am joined by an onlooker.
To be fair, he is only interested in my cereal bar. Even so, I appreciate a bird that is happy to perch on my bike whilst I identify it (its a Stellar's Jay). Bird watching is fine but all that fannying about with bins trying to find them can be dull. This is how bird watching should be.
More stops & advice from friendly Canadians on where to go lulled me into a relaxed "on the road" outlook. After mile three hundred and something I was sat day dreaming, leaning on my bag (my back was starting to complain), one hand on the bars, the other scanning the sky for bird life when a car flashed me. I looked around for anything hanging off the bike & listened for ominous mechanical noises. All seemed fine. Ten minutes later a truck in a line of trucks puts its siren on and slows to make a U-turn. "Licence and registration...you were doing 130 in a 100" (Ks that is..). C$150 fine. With 25% discount that's £60. I blame the bird watching. Still on the bright side, its heart warming to think I have now been done for speeding in six countries over three continents. Takes dedication you know.
Big country means big distances. I have already covered nearly two thousand miles. Ok on interesting roads but the Alaska highway didn't change much today & was straight (ish). So much so that when a vague corner arrives you have to remember what to do. Apart from friendly (looking) bears & bewildered moose, my only other companion was a lone wolf padding alongside the road. Its all relative though. I passed a guy in the middle of nowhere in hiking gear with a rucksack & a err... wheelbarrow. He waved as I passed. Shortly afterwards it started to rain.
Stopped in Buckinghorse River (which is a hundred miles from anyway) & got talking to Edwin who manages the campsite/store that is Buckinghorse River.
"Quiet spot." "Yep, that's the way I like it..." "Must see all types?" "Yep, had a guy last week that rolled up late in a blacked out pick up. Starting snooping around. I asked him what he wanted. He said "Got any women?". "No, this is a campsite". "Well those campers must have wives & daughters".
"What happens when you get trouble - do you call the police?". " Police are two hours that way and two hours that way.." pointing "..but I've got my pistol under the counter and (pause) I have a rifle with a laser sight. I never miss. I don't kill them. Just handcuff them." Right.
NB I stayed in a better than usual hotel yesterday. To counter this I am in a roadside motel tonight. The guys are outside my door drinking vodka in their trailer & a woman has just been picked up by the ambulance after over dosing in a room further down. Nice. Perhaps need to find the middle ground on the accommodation next time..
What's the difference between a buffalo & bison? I don't know but I do know neither should be on the road. I guffawed when I saw the neon sign stating "beware of bison on the highway". Next thing, this thing is nibbling at the road edge. Its beginning to annoy me the amount of random animals the Canadians see fit to let roam around their main roads. Today I had hands on experience of elk (solid looking and skittish), moose (tall as a horse but more stupid looking), foxes (bigger than uk with white tail) & bears - lots of bears.
To be fair, they all seemed to be pretty non-plussed with human attention. I'm told they're just out of hibernation, groggy but hungry. This explains their disregard as I roll up on the motorbike. After a few minutes, they make eye contact. I leave.
Decided not to go too far into the Yukon. The distances are eye watering. 600 mile round trip to Whitehorse. It was a 150 mile off road to Telegraph Creek too that I wimped out of (wrong tyres). I headed east & so will be more or less completing a circle of BC.I am now on the Alaska highway. It would be boring as the road is good & straightish for long stretches but the combination of mountain passes, rain & kamikaze elk kept me entertained. In the mountains, I came across a family of bison. The calves enjoyed randomly darting across the highway. There is no peace for a motorcyclist in Canada.
NB Alexander Keith's IPA is keeping me straight at the moment
After a day walking the ski slopes near Smithers it's good to be back out on the road. I had planned to do a nice circular walk to a crater lake but a mixture of very faint paths, the sense of direction of a goldfish & a scrappy photocopied map had me walking straight up the ski slope. Steep but wide which was good for bear ambushes I figured. Unfortunately,I could not stop climbing & by the time I reached the ski lift, I was walking in groin deep snow. It was only the inner marmot in me & a compass that got me back down.
On the road again & I had a day of firsts. The west side of BC is spectacular - 2000M plus snow capped peaks surround you. The lakes are thawing but still frozen. The rivers are swollen with melt water. And I was running out of gas. I have a 210 mile tank. I limped into Stewart on vapours with 201 on the clock. Earlier, distracted by my flashing fuel warning light, I looked up & there was a black bear looking at me from the side of the road. Like a gun fight, we looked at each other though squinted eyes & moved on. At Stewart, I decided to go to Alaska.
Hyder dates back to 1910 when the original gold miners set up camp. Was interrogated by Canadian customs on the way back across the border ("do you have any weapons to kill bears with ?). Back on the road & my first glacier.
NB I'm writing this at 9PM - roughly 3 hours before it gets dark around here.
"Where you off to today, David?". Given this was a bed only type of place, Darryl had just come back from having his full American breakfast (on expenses). Meanwhile I was tucking into my instant porridge in a pot. "You're going right by my cabin - do you want to stay over?". Damn, I'd just booked a hotel. Still it was good of digitless Darryl to offer. "Watch out for those bears, saw one round the back of here yesterday".
As I headed off, I started to scan the roadside for a) deer b) elk c) moose d) beers or e) any other suicidal canuk creatures I haven't been told about yet. No sign. I did start to bore of scanning the forest edge though and gave up when it started to rain as I figured any self respecting animals would be safely tucked away in the canope somewhere. Soon after, I swerved & narrowly missed the mother of all roadkills.
The further east I had ridden, the less mountainous and more agricultural the landscape became. The area I was travelling through was known as the Lake District. Nothing like the UK's namesake but an area of natural lakes surrounded by fir forests & fast flowing rivers. The locals seem to live in either sprawling great log cabins or in trailer parks with little in between. They do share some things in common though - a fondness for derelict cars.
As I was contemplating what Sam's house would like now if I had also kept all my cars - worse bikes, I realised I was being clocked. A large, deer was galloping towards the road. As I started to brake, it ground to halt. Looked at me, leaped upward, turned mooneying a white flank and ran back into the forest. I'd heard of a biker being headbutted by a deer but managed to stay on (yes, Darryl again..). Afterwards she couldn't get off the bike as her leg was so badly bruised. I finished the day as I started, scanning the forest line.
Finally I'm on the bike and heading north from Vancouver. I hit roadworks. Some things are a constant the world over. Soon free and the scenery opens up. Take the Swiss Alps, the Scandinavian fjords & add a sprinkle of the best of Scotland & you've got the road to Whistler.
It warm - early twenties - but snow is still around covering the peaks & in patches roadside. The ski -lift & tourist signs state its sea to sky & it feels like it. Although I'm riding so slow I could be on a harley. No brakes just rolling on & off watching the birds, taking big gulps of mountain air and ignoring the occasional sweet smell of roadkill (or something..).
Stopping for a McD coffee (needs must), I am met by another GS rider. I'm doing the cleaning in my ski chalet in Whistler. Normally takes the unsurfaced, mountain road but its still blocked. He's retired after the Japs (his word) took away his manufacturing business.
North of Pemberton, the terrain softens & the people harden. Cars grow wider & trucks grow longer. If you haven't got two trailers on you're some sort of fairy. Roadside signs warn you about avalanche risks & wandering moose. Not knowing the best approach for either I speed up.
Williams Lake is a cross roads town just after the turning for Horsefly (a popular choice for tourists I'd say). I have booked myself into a motel straight out of a Tarantino movie where I meet Darryl playing guitar on the veranda. He's a retired telecoms engineer who does an occasional job but sails his yacht most of the time. He tells me the Japs have taken over Vancouver ("I'm a goddamn minority"), why the hell do we need french & that he has recently sawed two of his fingers off (showed me the handmade wood floor he'd made - worth a couple of fingers I thought).
"You want to do what?" asks the bored Canadian customs clerk. "I want to take my motorbike out of said crate & ride it across BC & eventually to NYC. "What...I'll have to ask my manager. Never had one of these".Having actually seen, nay touched said crate, I was feeling bullish. Canadian customs (unlike the US) is a breeze I'm told. Previous guy in the queue left shouting "I'm pissed off with all this bureaucay. It's only a box of bloody books"& stormed out. I took a seat next to the baggy suited oriental traders & waited. "Mr Robinson-Smith, here is your receipt which we have stamped. Goodbye."
After much overly cautious unpacking the bike was revealed tied tightly down with the suspension & tyres well compressed. It had been packed well. With the screen & mirrors on I headed for the nearest garage to fill up with air & gas (!). Temperature for the 20 minute ride back to the hotel was 24C.After a beer, I headed off back to town to walk part 2 of the coastal walk. Once again roller skating vixens, bearded teenagers & on message oldies all jostled for space - united by their tattoos & uninterruptable nattering. Meanwhile, the views were good.
NB I have had several complaints about the sheer number of motorcycle shots. For today I have limited them to 1 but from here on in expect many many more...
People love to think they're different, individual with a unique outlook. Not one of a crowd. We're not of course and all end up doing much the same thing. So, I set off for a walk around downtown Vancouver & Stanley Park.This is a perfect setting. The park is the peninsula above downtown Vancouver & is the recreational hot spot for everyone and their dog. Said dog is typically a miniature, rat on a rope being dragged around the 5 mile circuit. At first, I considered cycling but dismissed it. Good move. The dedicated cycle lane was a hotchpotch of heavyweight tandems, families on daddy bear, mummy bear & baby bear bikes, bearded aficionados on stripped down fixed wheel statements & men on race bikes in lycra. A carnage of bell ringing & cries of "coming through on ya left" followed. The footpath was safer but also an eye opener. With the spectacular bay unfolding, the combination of elderly Japanese tourists, serious but baggy joggers, people taking endless "selfies" & smart, seemingly mainly gay, couples taking their Sunday constitutional provided a motorway of near misses.
Still the bird life proved more promising (a good indicator). Tame Herons, a family of what I assumed to be sea eagles & talk of black oyster catchers all got me in the mood.
For a beer that is. I'm quietly impressed with the IPA actually. Beer, birds - all that's missing is a bike.
