"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.
Manchester Airport. I'm sat below two gigantic neon signs stating "Your turn" & asking "How alive are you?". Chortle.The picture of the bright red, racing F-Type Jaguar shouts youthful exuberance but we all know will be driven by members of the balding grey brigade. So maybe their question is spot on. Should they also ask about eyesight tests and the practicality of getting in and out of said sports car too?
Airport boredom at the final gate was punctured with an announcement - "can David err Robertson err Smit come to the booking desk?". Hold on that's me. "Are you David ?". "Yep". "They didn't book you on the front desk". "Right". Looking over to the plane I could see a dodgy looking guy on the tarmac waving my bag frantically over his head as if to throw it. "Is that your bag?". "Yes" (which was a guess as I couldn't see it without my specs).
After a delayed take off due to some bloke having a panic attack, the nine hour flight was made bearable by having a seat with extra legroom, painkillers from the retired couple next to me (my new root filling felt like it was being re-drilled as we took off) & films. By the time my choices were boiled down to the Lego Movie or a re-run of the Muppets Show, we were near Vancouver.
Welcome to Vancouver. First impressions. A more orderly, laid back US with english weather. Big trucks, big malls & lots of small asian folk (for some reason). Some things are just the same as the US though. Gun fight in high street Edmonton, Alberta yesterday (3 dead).Shooting in Sawmill, BC day before (2 dead).
Day before off and I'm eating a sausage sandwich in Oakamoor. Sun's out too. The inevitable "what have I forgotten ?" question is beginning to niggle. I find that whilst you can become fixated by such things as the volume of shreddies (5 in my case) & whether to pack spare trousers (no, you don't), the only thing to really think about is paperwork. For me, that's passport, US visa for later (ESTA), insurance, flight stuff & my wallet. For the bike, that's the exception letter for customs, original reg. certificate, insurance & pick up/return depot stuff. Think that's it. Oh, & to be on the safe side I've got a map & satnav. Former does not cover the area I'm heading to first (British Columbia to the Yukon) & the latter has a new unproven data card. So we're good to go - well sort of.
Before disappearing for a week end of Welsh debauchery at a Touratech event, Dave kindly packed my bike a week early. Saved a couple of hundred quid by removing the screen & mirrors too. Good news all round. All being well, bike will be on the same flight as me leaving Sat 10th. I will then unpack Mon 12th & be on way from Vancouver. Well that's the plan so far anyway.
