SgtMarty wandering around Earth

[SgtMarty]

Well, my ride from Colorado to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska has begun. I detoured to Moab, Utah, for the Canyonlands Motor Classic gathering at the end of May, and that part of the story is included here as well. At the end of September, my buddy Don and I will head for Ushuaia, Argentina, at the southern tip of South America.

Since internet access is proving rarer and less reliable than I had planned, my updates and communications will be spotty. The story line will eventually catch up with my current status, but for now, here's the story so far:


Part 1. Home to Moab, Utah.


Tuesday, May 27, 2008
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I finally got the bike done early this morning. I was pretty fuzzy at that point, having been up and active for close to 40 hours straight by the time I zonked out. I expected to get a few hours of sleep before the alarm went off, but as it turned out, Laurie had reset my alarm and called Don that morning and arranged for him to come to my place a couple hours later than we had agreed on. So, after having slept through the newly set alarm, my body clock woke me at 10:30 in a mild panic. I then saw the note that Laurie had left advising me of the new time. So, after a quick shower and some yogurt, I went down to the garage. Just after I opened the door at 11:00, Don rode up.

We spent a couple hours finalizing my packing and Don's repacking, then we were off. We had put some stuff in the truck for Laurie to bring to Moab on Thursday. Still, we were over-loaded--especially me--and the bikes were heavy. Since I had never managed to do a test ride, I wanted to try the bike out on something other than paved roads right away. So, we did the typical thing and rode to Monument and took Mount Herman Road over the Rampart Range, The dirt road was in pretty good shape, but it took some time getting used to the bike being so heavy and sluggish.



I have had ridden the old KLR loaded for camping before, and was used to it being top-heavy, but with the aluminum boxes and big Givi tailbox, this was the heaviest it had ever been. Making quick leans and fast track adjustments were out of the question. This led to a few "Oh, ****!" moments, but I managed okay. Then the first semi-drama occured.

I was riding in the lead, coming up to a sharp right blind curve. As I neared the apex of the turn, a big pickup truck came around in my side of the road. There was nowhere for me to go, so I rode into the drainage ditch, off to the right. I dabbed with my right foot, which was a bad thing to do with side boxes. My right foot got caught between the box and the right berm, and it turned my foot outward. As the bike fell off to the right, my foot was trapped under the aluminum box and the ground, pointed backward. This was a very ugly position, and I couldn't move at all. I couldn't lift the bike off me, I couldn't turn to my right to relieve the stress to my leg since I was still astride the bike and couldn't swing my left leg over it, and I couldn't pull my foot out. I just stayed there until Don rode up and stopped to left the bike off my leg. As I stood and assessed any damage, I saw the pickup had stopped just up the road and the driver was watching me hop around on one leg. I wanted to hurt him bad, but I just waved him away. Off he went. I hope Karma bites him soon.

Turns out that aside from a sore ankle and knee, I was okay. We rode on. After gas in Woodland Park and a late lunch later at Amanda's Fonda in Manitou Springs, we headed south and west on Old Stage Road/Gold Camp Road to Victor (more dirt roads). I like this route; it's easy, varied, and scenic. Because I'm a doofus sometimes, I again got off into the right ditch on a gradual climb. The bike stayed upright, but was tippy and I had to strain to keep it from going over. I head Don behind me grumbling about something, and I looked back to see him trying to find someplace to park his bike where it would not fall off the side stand. I kept trying to keep my own bike from flopping over, so I missed Don's fall. Turns out that he got too far into a lean while parking, and his bike flopped over in the road. I let my bike go and it fell over onto the right side box, and I went to help Don. As we lifted his bike up, one of the mirrors caught the new tall windshield, and the big plastic sheet just snapped in half. What a waste. Oh, well.

A couple guys in a truck came and saw our comedy act, but they took pity on us and got out to help us get situated. After getting Don settled, they helped right my bike and push me out of the ditch. I rode to the opposite side of the road (better angle for parking) and promptly dropped the bike over again while parking it. Duh.

We continued through Victor and on into Cripple Creek with further misfortune. Don hadn't done Shelf Road before, so we took that south to U.S. 50. No cattle on Shelf Road this time, but we did scare up some mountain goats or female Bighorn sheep or whatever they were that scrambled up the mountain in a hurry.

We went West past Canon City, then followed a map to a friend's property between Canon City and Westcliffe. It was late when we got set up and ready to camp, and the wonderful views were made hazy and faint by low clouds with a blustery disposition. Don hung his hammock in a canvas shed and I pitched my tent in the dirt. After a bit of fireside chat, we were ready to call it a day.

[SgtMarty]

Wednesday, May 28, 2008
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The views were only slightly better in the cold, drizzly morning, and it was still very cloudy. We were on the road by 07:30, headed for Cotopaxi for breakfast. We made a short detour through Salida to see if a couple friends were at their businesses, but both were goofing off elsewhere.

After running up to Buena Vista and finding out that both Independence Pass and Cottonwood Pass were still closed due to the unusually high snowfall this Spring, we backtracked to U.S. 50 and over Monarch Pass.





I hit reserve on the bit IMS gas tank at 246 miles, about what I expected. What I didn't expect was that I only got 13 miles on reserve before the tank went dry right next to the gift shop at the top of the pass. After hot chocolate, Don rode back down a ways to a service station and fetched a siphon pump and hose, returning just after I finally found my own extra fuel hose. More silliness.



I took some of Don's gas and we got down from Monarch Pass to the town of Sargents, where I topped off. Don had been keeping his gas tank full, but I had deliberately let mine run down to see how its capacity played out. I guess that I learned what I needed to know. The IMS tank, due to its thick plastic shell, has very little fuel left when you switch to reserve. Plus, the bike was too heavy to lay on its side to get to the few "secret" reserve ounces of fuel in the right lobe of the tank.

The water level in Blue Mesa Reservoir was lower than I had ever seen it. Maybe they let it flush out?



We had lunch in Montrose at a nice Chinese buffet.



A couple locals advised us that the Uncompagre Plateau was not yet passable to anything other than 4-wheel drives, so that plan was also scrapped. We went south to Ridgeway, then west toward Naturita, intending to find a camp site somewhere along the way. The San Juans were gorgeous, snow-speckled and stark.





Don was having trouble shifting, and almost got hit by a red convertable when he pulled out in front of them and then missed a shift and almost stalled out. They flipped him off and sped past. Turns out that they got in front of me for the next 20 miles or so.



Locals in Naturita had no recommendation for camping, so we decided to find a wilderness camp somewhere. We rode on until we found a dirt road that turned off the pavement and headed into the hills and we went exploring. I wanted to get far away from the main road so our fire would not be seen, so I blasted up some rough rocky sections before finding a nice spot. When I stopped, Don radioed up to me that he had fallen and needed help. I walked down to help him pick up his bike. I forgot to take a photo of his tired bike, but remembered the camera as he headed back down.



He had fallen on a steep slope, on baseball sized rocks. We agreed that a lower camp site would be good enough, so I brought my bike down and we settled into a nice spot. After we got set, a truck started to come up the dirt road toward us, but saw us and turned around and left. Don't know what that was about. The fire chased the gnats away, the weather was cool but clear, and all was well. Don camped in the open, on a plastic sheet, me in my tent.



I stayed up later than Don did. Took a rare self-portrait.

[SgtMarty]

Thursday, May 29, 2008
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We got up at 07:00, broke camp and road up the San Miguel/Dolores river canyon to Gateway for breakfast. A cool, beautiful ride in sharp morning shadows.









We then took John Brown Canyon over the shoulder of the La Salle mountains as we had done last year. A nice ride, but colder than last time.
















We got into Moab at about noon, too soon to check into the campground, so we rode down to Fred's shop (********* Motorsports) to putter around a while. The bike rudely tipped over in Fred's gravel driveway when the sidestand dug into the ground. It's a good thing that Don and I didn't make the common "drop fee" agreement before we started out. The score so far was three for me, two for Don.



After getting our cabin and getting cleaned up, I called Laurie to add a few things to the list of stuff that she would be trucking and trailering in later that night. I found that one of the Rox straps had melted on the muffler, so I would need a new strategy for that strap next time. On the two-night ride here, I had also learned that some of my attachment points for the side bags needed to be altered, and the tank panniers would need to be mounted higher and further forward to clear my knees. It was all manageable, given time. Some of the cheap aluminum caribiners that I had used to attach the bags had bent, and I would need to replace them with real caribiners or other clips.

Both of the aluminum boxes were bent from the tip-overs. I was surprised at how vulnerable they were. I had to bend them back out to get the lids to fit right. Surely some of the boxes out there are sturdier than these. The aluminum alloy in these boxes is pretty soft.

We met several other arriving riders, stopped back by Fred's shop briefly for a chat with folks, then headed for the Moab Brewery for dinner. Laurie arrived after midnight, but she got settled in for bed quickly. We would unpack and unload her bike in the morning.

[SgtMarty]

Friday, May 30, 2008
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Breakfast Friday morning was at the Moab Diner. There was a group ride plan for Friday, and the White Rim Trail awaited us. Don was very leery of his shifting problems, but Laurie volunteered her XT225 for Don to ride. She spent the day relaxing, reading, napping, sight-seeing. Almost like a real vacation. We, on the other hand, spent the day beating the hell out of ourselves.

The group got organized for the White Rim Trail (WRT) and headed out at about 08:30, with 21 riders. Going by memory, I tried to get us to the counter-clockwise start of the trail, on the plateau near the Deadhorse Overlook, but my memory on this issue sucks. After I was corrected a couple times, we finally got started by descending the zig-zags down to the Green River. The weather was good for the ride. Not too hot. There were a couple more orientation challenges early on, but we managed okay.









I had my first tip over on a steep, rising turn when the rider in front of me seemed to chicken out and stopped. I was just leaning and accelerating into the turn, and I couldn't keep the KLR from tipping over. I had to pivot the bike a bit before getting it back upright. The KLR still had a couple sets of soft side bags, but the other luggage had been removed. Still, it was heavy.





Some riders had great trouble in the deep sand areas, and Don seems to have no knack for it. Even on the XT225, he goes into a wobble and fights for control when he's in sand. I managed to do a bit better, but I was really babying it since this bike had to get me to Alaska after this weekend. I had forgotten to remove the tall windshield (as I had planned), so I considered that to be the most vulnerable item to protect.





I helped one rider get her bike out of some sand, first by helping push and then by riding it out. She was pretty tired at that point. She was too short to get her legs down to paddle-foot her KLR250 through the sand, so every time she had trouble in sand, down she went. I even got one photo of her in a sandy mid-crash.



This sand area was very deep, and caught several riders. One guy dumped his bike on his leg and the footpeg tore a hole in his calf. Some first aid on the trail and a few stitches later in the day and he was all fixed.





I had coached everyone at the start of the ride to not bunch up, yet I made that mistake myself while riding through some sand behind Don. He had his usual fall and I wasn't able to stop in time and ran my front tire into his back. I will always feel bad about that, but I'm glad he wasn't injured from my error.

We made several stops as a group, including one long group lunch/photo stop. The faster riders were taking off early, and Don and I soon followed. We caught up with some of them and rode as a small group for a while. Murphy's Hogback was easier this time, going downhill, as was Hardscrabble Hill.



The climbs up the other sides were still challenging. I decided that either way you go on the WRT, it will be a different experience and equally adventurous.

Last year, we had done the WRT in the opposite direction, but I had apparently blocked out huge sections of the trail from my memory. In the last third of the WRT, almost none of it seemed familiar to me. We were on the right route, but coming from the other direction had been a completely different experience. I had forgotten about the seemingly endless miles of rough, pot-holed rocky road that battered and shook us to pieces (literally). Straps on the side bags had torn loose and clips had broken and bent. I used a length of nylon rope (from my stash in one of those side bags) to tie the bags to the bike and keep them from flopping around.





Don somehow managed a fairly high-speed crash on the XT225. I came up behind his debris field, saw the tire skid marks and the gouges in the rocky trail. The evidence led right up to where he was still laying next to the bike. He was okay, despite the battering, and the bike had only minor damage. He got back up and we rode on.

It took us almost ten hours to complete the WRT, same as last year. With a much smaller group, and fewer and shorter stops, it could easily be manged in 6-7 hours (assuming no catastrophe). We had expected to siphon gas from my big IMS tank for the XT225, but the smaller bike did the whole WRT, over 150 miles, on one tank... without hitting reserve! That was over 75 miles per gallon! Goodness! We headed for camp to collect Laurie and learn about her lazy day.

Later, we learned that one of the riders had suffered a severe ankle injury on a fall, and a couple bikes had broken their footpegs off. Been there, done all that.

At Fred's shop, we hung around for the drawings, and we each won something.



We headed back to camp for a group meeting of the WRT riders (and more gift drawings). I had my "Prudhoe Bay to Ushuaia" t-shirt for people to sign, and I promised to wear it into the Arctic Ocean and again at the southern tip of South America. We hurried into town for dinner at McStiff's, then back to the cabin to spend some time in a coma.

[SgtMarty]

Saturday, May 31, 2008
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We changed our initial plans for the day after deciding we needed an easier day. I was done with challenging riding, Don agreed, and Laurie needed some easy riding for her part of the adventure. We had breakfast at the Jailhouse (as good as it gets) and later set out for Hurrah Pass on the Kane Creek Road.





It was a bit challenging for Laurie, but she did great. One big sand pit bit her, but she motored on. She did great with the rocky bits, and developed enough confidence to get over some stuff that I thought would intimidate her too much to try. I took photos and some video while Don coached Laurie through some spots. The helmet radios were good for this.





At Hurrah Pass, I'm sure Laurie felt victorious. The scenery was good, too.





Don was still having some shifting problems, and it suggests a transmission problem (since we later ruled out just about everything else). We'll try a clutch rebuild later in the summer before sending it to the shop for work.



From Hurrah Pass, we turned around and returned the way we had come. I had told a couple other riders that we met on the trail that I would be late to the planned tech session at Fred's shop, so I didn't hurry back. After we had made most of our return trip, I left Laurie and Don to manage the rest on their own and I buzzed ahead to the shop. It turned out that a few riders who had planned on my help (doing valve checks and other work) weren't there, so I puttered around helping other people with various projects. Don arrived a bit later, and Laurie followed in the truck with my tool bags. When we were done tinkering, we returned to camp for showers and comfortable clothes. Another trip back to Fred's shop for another round of gift drawings (we each won something again). Don and I met one of our former co-workers at the shop, and we chatted with him for a while. Later, we chose a Thai restaurant in Moab for dinner.

Back in the camp, several riders were watching helmet-camera footage of the WRT and other rides that they had done that day. Don and Laurie zonked out, and I soon followed.

[SgtMarty]

Sunday, June 1, 2008
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We slept in late, since there were no group plans. Most of the riders were headed home that morning, and we said our good-byes to those we saw. We had breakfast at a hotel restaurant that had old photos of Moab, including behind-the-scenes shots of John Wayne during the filming of "Rio Grand" in the Moab area. We did some shopping in town, finding some useful things in Gearheads, an outdoor sports shop.

We then decided to ride Onion Creek, which Laurie had head a lot about. The many (shallow) water crossings had made her apprehensive, but her ride the previous day had improved her confidence.



Laurie made the ride up Onion Creek with no problems, and even had a few celebrations along the way. We posed for a photo at the top, and I took some more photos and a few videos of Laurie and Don on the way down. Unfortunately, I had the camera set to a low resolution when recording video. Fellow riders will find all this a bit tame, perhapsl, but family members will get a kick out of it.

















I caught her one biff on video; coming down a sloping road into the creek crossing where she hit a rock or something under the water and came out of the water on a bad line. She ran into the hill alongside the road, and made a cloud of dust. Nothing worse than that. After I got the bike off her foot, she rode on.



Back near Moab, we took a side route to see some petroglyphs in the rock face along the Colorado River. Don and I had seen them, but Laurie had not. It was hot, and we needed ice cream after that. To the Moab Brewery for an early dinner, then back to camp where Don and Laurie got packed up.

I sorted through the things I had brought and the things that Laurie had brought for me, and made my final choices for things to take with me to Alaska. The semi-mesh jacket was the worst choice I made. Once I was out of Utah, it was never again warm enough to wear by itself, and I pretty much always had the heated liner under it and the rain jacket over it as a wind barrier. The Aerostich Darien jacket would have been a better choice.

I had two digital-card based video cameras to choose from, and I chose the better of the two to take with me. Unfortunately, I should have tested it first, because when I tried to use it a few days later, it was dead. The other one probably worked. Bah!

I carried another video camera kit, still in its box, but I had never used it before so it was a total gamble. It was a good camera (if it worked), so I was prepared to experiment with it along the way. I sorted through the clothes I had packed, and sent some home with Laurie, but I still ended up taking too much stuff with me.

We said and hugged our good-byes, and after Don and Laurie had left I did some maintenance work on a few things, then I walked down to the movie theater for the new Indiana Jones movie. I was reminded yet again that more digital special effects does not make for better movies.

[SgtMarty]

Monday, June 2, 2008
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I registered for another night in the cabin after deciding that I needed to spend an uninterruped day working on the bike. I spent about ten hours fixing the panniers and side bags on the bike. I made several walking trips to Gearheads for nylon straps, buckles, caribiners, more heavy sewing twine, and other bits to make the necessary repairs and upgrades. The stitching on the bags was vulnerable at every seam and strap attachment point, so I re-attached the torn straps and reinforced each of these areas with the sewing awl and waxed twine.





I then re-did some of the strapping, adding buckles and clasps to several places so that I had more flexibility with securing the bags and removing them. I worked from a plastic lawn chair that I kept moving around the bike every half hour or so. Without company or distraction, I got everything done by 19:00, and then did some pre-packing.



I showered and dragged myself over to the Brewery for dinner, several beers, and the 2nd and 3rd overtime periods of the Stanley Cup game. Back at the cabin, I spent a couple hours online, but the wi-fi connection at the campground was slow, so I only managed to get a little done.

[SgtMarty]

Tuesday, June 3, 2008
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Up early to do laundry and take a shower. I got packed up and again lamented having kept too much stuff with me. I checked out of the campground, had breakfast at the Diner, and finally hit the road. I didn't get far right away, though. There was roadway construction just north of Moab, and lots of cars were backed up for a long ways.



After we got through that, I took a photo of me and the bike, feeling as if the trip had truly started now.



The historic Dewey Bridge had been burned down by a kid earlier this Spring. Too bad.



I chose a destination in northern Utah and let the GPS pick the route.




After a short stretch on I-70, I took the exit that had been selected and all seemed well for a while. Nice country roads, not well maintained, very little evidence of recent traffic.

The Utah-Colorado border, which I crossed a few times on back roads.



After an hour or so, the road got pretty challenging in spots. As the road wended its way through free-range cattle country, it also climbed into some mountains.







The dirt road was wet in many places from the still-melting snow, and muddy in a few spots. At higher elevations, there was still snow on the road, and I had a hard time punching through some of it. No cars or trucks had been this way in some time. Great. Gotta be careful up here alone.

Of course, it started raining.





I finally bogged down in a muddy trench next to a big patch of ice and snow. The Mefo tire wasn't knobby enough to pull through, but it was knobby enough to dig a hole. The bike was too heavy to pull itself out. I had to unload the bike, setting all the boxes and bags aside, and finally work the bike out and up the road a ways. I made a few trips back on foot to get all the gear and reload the bike. That was tiring. It was drizzly, cold, and windy, too, so that didn't help.







The road soon crested the mountain range, and after some more mud and sand areas, it got much better.





What the GPS hadn't indicated was that the road became a private road at some point. There was no alternative, no fork in the road, just a big steel cable locked across the road with a "No Trespassing" sign. There was no way I was going to backtrack several hours through all that crud, so I managed to slip the cable over the post and proceed. I replaced the cable behind me and hoped that the local residents (if any) would understand. As it turned out, the road was nice, although I did have to ride over a fallen small aspen tree across the road. I never saw another person or a house, just more cattle, one elk, and a few deer.





After several miles, I came to the other end of the private section of road. The iron gate here was much more formidable, and there was no way I could pass it. The fences and ditches on either side had me concerned, too. Eventually, I figured out a way to backtrack a short distance, get past one barbed-wire fence, ride back near the gate and bypass it. Near the gate was a section of strung steel cable instead of barbed wire. Also nearby was a big piece of cast iron pipe. I lugged the 8-foot section of pipe to the cable and layed it across to pull the cable to the ground. This allowed me to ride over the cable very carefully. Freedom! I put everything back the way I had found it and motored on.



The roads now were obviously well-traveled and well-maintained. It eventually came to a recreational area with off-road trails and camping areas. Lots of signs pointed out the various (as yet unseen) activity areas in the scrubby wilderness, but I just wanted to keep heading north. I hadn't seen a soul for four or five hours. The mountain crossing would have been a disaster if I had been stuck or injured, but this area was probably pretty active, at least on the weekends.

Then it was more hills again.



Eventually, the GPS led me to the Rainbow mine area and a ghost town named Dragon. I figured any ghost town named Dragon was worth seeing, but it turns out that I was wrong. Dry, dusty roads led me to a few evident remains of old fences.



There was a chain-linked fence around the Dragon cemetary. Maybe a dozen or more grave markers.



The road was very rutty and hard to ride with the heavy bike. The surface of the road was like brown flour, very fine powder, and it was surprisingly slippery stuff. Trying to stay up on the hump in the middle of the road was proving impossible, and I kept sliding down into the deep tire ruts.



Eventually this bit me, and I had a slow-speed crash into the dirt embankment on the side of the road. Fortunately, the ground rose a bit there, and the bike didn't go over very far. I was able to right it and move on.



That tip-over, and several more to follow as the ride continued, again proved the vulnerability of the aluminum boxes. The back side of each box (where it was mounted to the rack) was getting misshapen with each minor impact. I had to bend the boxes out again by pulling on them several times over the next few days. Still, the boxes remained serviceable, so the un-bending repairs became a matter of routine.

By the way, this was my view from the cockpit.



After learning my lesson about blindly following the GPS to ghost towns, I headed for Vernal, Utah on better roads.



Just as I neared an intersection with another dirt road, I decided to turn around and get a photo of something. The u-turn on the off-camber dirt road was poorly done and I flopped the bike over again. It was fully on its side, with the tires pointed uphill. I was unable to lift it, so I decided to unload it as it lay there. Just then, not two minutes after I tipped over, the first person I had seen in six hours came driving along on the other roadway and saw me trying to pick up the bike. He was a trucker, but he stopped his big rig and jogged over to help me pick the bike up. His timing could not have been better. I thanked him profusely, but he thought nothing of it. He also thought that my plan to ride that bike to Alaska and South America was the coolest thing he had ever heard. He left with a wave and I forgot what I was going back to take a picture of, so I ended up following his rig for a while on the dirt and then on pavement toward Vernal. We waited with a few other cars at another road construction blockage. We later gave each other a wave when he turned off.





Some of the scenery was nice, but it was always cool and very chilly at times. I didn't take as many photos as I now wish I had taken. It drizzled most of the day, on and off, and I really didn't want to stop or dawdle much. Just ride, baby. I got into Vernal at 18:30, then headed toward the Flaming Gorge area to look for a campsite.



What I found was a big day-use picnic area with some RV trails. Good enough for me, especially since I was wet and tired after the 250-mile day. If a Ranger had a problem with me camping in a picnic area, he would have to find me first, and then he would have to stand in the rain to chew me out. Hah!





I found a nice site next to a swift river. I got the tent set up in the drizzle, and then the sky dried up for me while I scrounged fire wood. The reluctant fire finally took hold in the damp wood and things got better. I heated some water in the fire and enjoyed a freeze-dried meal in the cool breeze. Everything was just wonderful for a while and although I was tired, I didn't want to go to sleep and miss the wonderfullness. I finally ran out of firewood, doused the embers with water from the river, and got to bed just as the rain started again. It rained all night. Lightning in the distance, too.

[SgtMarty]

Wednesday, June 4, 2008
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I was up at 08:30 and packed up the wet tent as quickly as my stiffness and soreness allowed. I had slept well, and was fully rested, but my butt and back were sore from the riding and lifting. An increasing arthritic condition in my lower back is getting my attention more and more as life goes on. Such is mortality.

Once loaded up, I started out of the RV area, but the roads were all muddy and much worse than they had been the night before. The roads were big mud puddles in places, and I almost went down several times. It was even hard to power-walk the bike, paddle-foot style, when the hills were slick or the ruts were deep. I did make it out in one piece, but I was already tired when I got back to pavement. I made an early stop in some town for breakfast and decided to pass up on the rest of the Flaming Gorge area, heading north-west instead.



A couple hundred cold, dreary miles later, in Kemmerer, Wyoming, I gassed up and figured that I was getting about 38 mpg loaded and riding the way I was. That was less than I had hoped for and expected, but it proved to be a consistent rate from then onward. At times I noticed that I was getting over 40 mpg, and speed of travel was the greatest variable.

There was lots of nice scenery, if only in the distance at times, but the zen-like ride was worth it. Having music to listen to, through the helmet speakers, was also very helpful. My MP3 player has about 800 songs on it, and I have lots more on the laptop that have yet to be loaded into the player, so it's about a week's worth of riding before the songs repeat.

At a mountain pass called "The Rim," the road was twistier and much more enjoyable. There were few opportunities to relax, with sharp turns and steep climbs. The road was good, but tourist traffic was heavier.





I got in to Jackson Hole, Wyoming at about 16:30, about 160 miles from Kemmerer, Wy. Only as I neared the town did the sun fully break out and the light rain stop. I suspect that the Chamber of Commerce and the celebrity population had something to do with bribing the weather gods in the area. I stopped in the center of town just to walk around the small park and absorb some sunlight.



Absolutely nothing about the town was attractive to me. I've seen tourist traps before, and this was just another one. I could believe that there might be an actual city with a real community behind the gaudy facades, but I saw no evidence of it. I took one photo of the town center and got the hell out of there.



I loved the views of the Tetons north of Jackson Hole; they were very rugged and very wintery-looking.





The ride up to Teton National Park was cold again, and some light drizzle reappeared. When I asked about camping in the park, the ranger at the entry station told me that there was a forecast for 2" of snow that night. Hmmm...

Passing through Teton N. P. got colder and colder, and the slow tourist traffic was making me hotter and hotter. Farking idiots. I swear some of these coots were actually dead while driving their huge rented RVs. I exited Teton and entered Yellowstone with gritted teeth (partially from the cold and partially from aggravation).

I decided to take the western route through the park, and reluctantly stopped at the Old Faithfull lodge to seek shelter from the rain. I was surprised to hear myself ask for a room in the expensive hotel, but relieved to hear that they were full. I started to leave, but just looking out at the bitter weather turned me around again. Back at the reception desk, I asked the young lady there to see if there were any lodgings available anywhere in the park. She found a few vacancies in other parts of the park, but all were far more expensive than I was willing to pay. Finally, seeing that I was not falling for her sales pitch, she found me a room in the Mammoth resort area, at the far north end of the park, for just under a hundred bucks. I booked it with her and set out for the two-hour ride up to Mammoth.

After about thirty minutes, the weather broke and the riding was easier. What ruined the ride was that since the weather broke, the tourist traffic picked up again. What should have been a two hour ride turned into almost three hours. I can easily understand that the deer, elk, and bison are nice photo ops, but not every single animal is worth stopping in the road for. I actually contemplated violence a couple times. I recognized that my frozen discomfort was contributing heavily to my desire to skin a few people alive, but that recognition did little to lessen the desire. At one point, I waited for at least a hundred cars and RVs to slowly inch past a few bison standing along the side of the road. It's hard to slow-crawl a motorcycle for a mile at less than a walking pace. I actually memorized a couple license plates, just in case I ever saw those vehicles again.





I had to force myself to relax. When I had the chance at one point, I passed a line of cars by riding past them on the right shoulder of the road. That seemed to miff a couple of drivers, but at that point I didn't care. The reward for passing them was immediate. I had mostly clear roads for the next hour in the clearing but still cold evening.

I got to the Mammoth Resort area at 21:00, while it was still very light out. Checking in to the old hotel was quick, but I was disappointed to learn that they had no internet access in the hotel. This proved to be a very common disappointment as my journey continued. I had expected more placed to have internet access, but that was not the case. My room was on the 4th floor. No elevator in the old building. Oof.



I barely made it to the restaurant before they closed. The food was okay, but it was pricey. The beer was the best part.

There was no cell phone service, so I couldn't tell if the SPoT messanger had gotten its signal out or not. I worked on the laptop, sorting and resizing photos for a couple hours before zonking out.

[SgtMarty]

Thursday, June 5, 2008
----------------------

I was up at 09:00, and I was ready to get on the road. I brought the bike to the front of the hotel to load it up, and this was a mistake. The tourist traffic and taxi buses were continuously weaving through the drive-through area where I was prepping the bike. I still did not know if the SPoT had gotten through last night, so I activated it again and set it down next to the crub, facing south, to do its thing. After a few minutes of packing the bike, I saw that the SPoT was gone. Instinctively I did not fear its loss, and I went into the hotel to see if someone had turned it in. Sure enough, there it was with a note attached. I set it back out on the curb and kept a better watch to ensure to another well-intentioned tourist didn't pick it up again.

Cool (as in almost cold) ride out of Yellowstone. Some nice sights in the short ride to the end of the park, but I only stopped to take a couple photos. It rained in spurts. The road north was mostly flat, scenic mountains in the distance.



I got to Livingston, east a bit on I-90, then north again. For a couple of hours, riding north to White Sulpher Springs, it got pretty boring and I realized that I was almost zoning out--not sleepy, but not quite tuned in to the ride, either. I would sing along with the music more, but I've heard me sing and it's not good. I stood on the pegs for a while to get refreshed in the cool air.





I stopped in White Sulpher Springs for gas. I was having trouble getting my Sansa MP3 player to take a charge on the bike, so I sat on the sidewalk in front of the gas station (where I also bought a bottle of wine--very civilized state) and plugged the charger into an outdoor plug for a while. No good. Battery in the player must be bad. It's always something.

I basically ran the MP3 player straight off its charger for the next several days, wired to a power cable in my tank bag. It worked fine, just one more wire to tend to. (Although about a week later, the battery somehow healed itself and started taking a charge again. Weird.) I have to say again that the music has been great to listen to while riding long distances. Some mellow songs with the occasional 70's heavy metal guitar rock mixed in seems to suit me fine. Eventually, I'll load some of the newer songs on my laptop to the MP3 player and mix it up more.

The heated liner is nice at times, but it was inadequate when things got really cold (again, this was largely due to the poor choice of riding jacket). All the heated liner could do was relieve some of the chill. And I've decided that the First Gear heated gloves are completely non-functioning. Don't know why, since they are new, but they don't do anything. I wear the big rubber rain gloves over them most of the time to cut the chill. To be fair to the heated liner, I must note that I never turned the thermostat over 50% power, due to the KLR's meager wattage output. I also have a volt meter on the bike, and I can sometimes watch the meter register between 11-12 volts in sync with the thermostat. At higher RPMs, it stays solid at 12 volts, and sometimes flickers between 12-13 volts as the heater kicks on and off. I think I'll add an aftermarket stator before South America. I'd like to run the liner and (working) gloves and still use my high beam without draining my battery.





Through Great Falls, then north-west to Choteau, Montana. Nice town. The KOA in town looked dismal and uninviting, so I almost camped in the middle of town at the City Park campsite. It would have been okay, but honestly I would have been a little uncomfortable in the middle of town. There looked to be a group of "regulars" just hanging out around the park, as if they lived there. I ate at a local diner, and when I asked, the waitress refered me to a campground north of town. I took her recommendation, and it was a good decision.

I rode a few miles north, turned at the sign to the ski resort, then again at the sign for the lakeside camping area. It was $12 into the metal drop-box, pick your own site. I chose the water's edge, where a picnic bench was next to a firepit that had the most unburnt wood in it. Some cardboard bits, too. I pitched the tent away from the fire, further from the lake, then set about getting the fire started. All the wood I could scrounge from the area was damp, so it took all the cardboard to finally get the tinder burning and chase the gnats and mosquitos away. Lots of driftwood, but all wet. I walked around all the other campsites (there was only one other site occupied, pretty far away) and carried all the wood bits back to my skimpy fire. After almost an hour, the bigger chunks of wood were dried out enough to burn and start drying out other wet driftwood. All was good.

The Yellowtail Merlot (from the gas station) was also good. In fact, it was very good. I've had it before, so I knew I would like it. Truth be told, I kept liking it until it was all gone. It didn't get dark until after 22:00, and the waxing moon was very pretty over the lake. I tried to take a photo of the moon reflecting on the lake, but it was too faint for the camera and I was too fuzzy from the wine.



Very light breeze off the water. Mostly because I was tired and it was nice out, it was all I could do to crawl into the tent instead of sleeping on the picnic table. I anticipated a cold morning, so after dousing the fire, into the tent I went. Slept great.

[SgtMarty]

Friday, June 6, 2008
--------------------

Up and about at 08:30. Sunny and very windy.



The wind made breaking camp difficult; things kept blowing away. Once packed up, I went back into Choteau for gas (hadn't planned ahead when I was here yesterday), then north again. The wind was gusty and hard to anticipate. It knocked me around some, but it was manageable.



I stopped in Dupuyer for food at 10:30, and it was more of a bar than it was a diner. A couple of locals got up and left as I walked in, so I had the place to myself. The old gal tending bar was also the waitress and cook, and was the only other person there. I got the impression that food was not much of what they served, but she did manage a couple of burnt pancakes and a decent McMuffin-style breakfast sandwich. The syrup had probably been left over from World War II, and it came out of the can like glue. She made a pot of coffee just for me, so I had several cups just to make it seem worth making a whole pot. The sink in the men's room was partly missing, broken no doubt by someone falling down because the floor of the room was severly tilted. The sink was held up by a piece of lumber propped up under it. So, okay, the place had "character."









The bartender and I talked about the wind, and she gave me the usual, "You call this windy? Hah! This is nothing!" speech, which led to tales of cattle being blown over and whole lakes being blown dry. She was a hoot. Breakfast, coffee, and a bunch of local weather lies cost me $9.

I did learn from her that this was the wettest Spring they've had in eight years, which explained why things were so green and why fields were flooded. As I got my riding gear back on, I told her that I had been riding in rain most of the day. As I left with a wave, she was still telling stories about what real rain was like back in the old days. Mostly, I think she was talking to herself.

Went through the Blackfeet Nation Reservation. Nice statues at the border.





I kept to my described strategy of "riding north and sometimes turning left," which was serving well enough. When I neared Glacier National Park, I was so cold and the ragged mountains were so wrapped in clouds that I chickened out and took a southern route, bypassing the park. Nice ride, but rained constantly.



I pulled into the Wal-Mart in Kalispell, Montana, to get a few things. Wal-Mart is not one of my favorite retailers (don't care for some of their practices), but they sell a cheap generic seat pad that others have used and thought was a decent value. I found the seat pad and a few other things, and spent an hour parked under their front overhang attaching the seat pad and making a few repairs to other things. Of course, it had stopped raining and gotten sunny by the time I came out of the store, so now I was overdressed and sweating. Back on the road.

In the town of Happy's Inn, I had a late lunch in a bar/diner/casino that also had character. There were the typical few local regulars staggering around inside, shooting pool (badly) and occasionally dropping coins into the slot machines that were lined up against one wall. Some of the men were having an argument that probably started in the '70s. It had become so familiar a debate between them, that at one point, one of the men actually turns to where I sat at another table and says, "Here's where Larry takes his shirt off to show his bullet wounds and tattoos." Sure enough, Larry got to talking about Viet Nam, and after being ignored by the dozen or so people in the place, he dropped his pool cue to the floor and angrily pulled off his shirt. He systematically pointed out each of the many tattoos and explained (to no one) why he had gotten each one. Everyone in the bar continued to ignore him. He didn't seem to notice. Finally, a woman at a slot machine told him to put his shirt on, and he shut up and did so. It seems that she is the boss of him.

I pretended to take some photos of the taxidermy on the walls (there were a lot of dead amimals and animal parts on the walls), and snuck in a partial photo of the bar area. I didn't get the shot I wanted, because one of the bearded veterans started staring at me warily. He's only pretending to drink his beer in this photo... he's really watching me.



Just as I was getting up to leave, the guy who had predicted Larry's tattoo tour offered me a drink. He told me that they were all war buddies and former motorcycle riders, but mostly they just hung out there anymore. I thanked him for the offer, but told him that I had a lot of riding to do, and any drinking would have to wait until later. He understood, and said that he didn't have to worry about when it was time to drink, because he just stayed drunk all the time. I had very mixed feelings about war veterans who had done their service but had ended up like this. But, who was I to judge? Maybe this is exactly how they want to be. I'm a military veteran, and who knows how I'll end up? Fooey! Too much philosophy.

I bought a bottle of wine from the bar and hit the road.

I crossed into Idaho and quickly found the Twin Rivers Canyon Resort campground just before getting to Moyie Springs.



Campsite cost $15, but my AAA card got me a 10% discount. Still a bit drizzly as I pitched the tent under thick pines. Lots of damp wood around the river banks, plus lots of things to use for tinder. Sat on the picnic table again and tended the fire while writing my notes for the day (something I have forced myself to do). I tried doing some writing on the laptop, under an umbrella on the picnic table, but that was just wrong, so I put it away and stared at the fire. Something about a campfire, you know?





I charged my cell phone at one of the RV hookups nearby, send the SPoT location signal, stared at the fire some more. Finally got semi-dark out well after 22:00, and I dozed on the table during a lull in the drizzle. Doused the fire and went to sleep at 23:00. Yeah, I'm sticking with military time, so that's 11:00 pm.

There was a constant drone from the lively river, and from a motor of some kind at a lumberyard that I later learned was nearby. Train rumbling through on the other side of the river now and then. Sleep was easy.

[SgtMarty]

Saturday, June 7, 2008
----------------------

Woke at 05:30, already daylight. The light rain put me back to sleep.

My watch alarm got me up at 08:00 and I was packed and on the road by 09:00.







I hit the Canadian border at Porthill, behind two riders on sport-tourer bikes (forgot to note what kind of bikes). Both were in FirstGear one-piece riding suits, which they said were great in the rain and cold. They were from southern California, had come up through Nevada and Yellowstone Nat. Park just ahead of me. They were only headed into Canada for a while, not going far north.

With the two riders' passports still in hand, the border guard briefly checked through a car with Canadian plates, never asked for ID from the driver or passenger. He then came over to me.

I handed only my driver's license to the young but serious-looking border guard when he asked for my ID, and he asked for nothing else. He asked me where I was from, where I was going, how long I was going to be in Canada, what my purpose was for traveling, if I had lived anywhere other than Colorado, if I was carrying alcohol, tobacco, pepper spray, fruits or vegetables, if I had any guns with me (and then he asked if I owned any guns and where they were at this time). I answered "no" to all the contraband questions, told him that I did own guns and that I kept them safe at home, away from the Canadians. He asked me what I did for a living, and he suggested that maybe I was a comedian. I told him that I was retired and left it at that. Actually, the exchange was brief and light-hearted, so my joking didn't influence him at all. He went inside to check my ID (and they check for past DUI convictions, too, which is why he wanted to know where else I might have lived in the States). He was back out pretty quickly, gave all three of us our IDs back and wished us safe riding in Canada. The whole thing took less than ten minutes.

The other two riders left with a wave while I was zipping back into my layers. I passed them and they passed me a few times over the next half-hour as we stopped to take photos. I headed west, then north toward Nelson. Kootenay Pass was miserably cold. Rain turned to sleet, wind picked up, visibility dropped. At the summit of the pass, there was about 2" of slush in places on the road, so it was slow going for me as I stayed in the tracks of the trucks that had passed before me.





With the drop from elevation, sleet became rain and the wind eased up. Never passed a single vehicle going back the other way.





I got into Nelson at about noon, and the weather magically broke clear and warm. People were walking around the touristy town in shorts and t-shirts. I looked like the Michellin Man compared to them. I found a parking spot near some Harley riders (who gave me a nod). They were carefully backing their big bikes into a curbside space, as if they had never backed their bikes to a curb before. They had on all the expected costume bits--vests, minimal helmets, sunglasses, chaps, boots, mustaches, etc., but they didn't quite have the knack for parking their bikes. They managed it well enough, but it was ugly at times. I parked a few spaces up the road, put my quarter in the parking meter (15 minute time limit) and started getting out of my excess clothing. The three Biker Dudes ambled up the sidewalk and went into a leather shop (leather clothing, biker gear, B&D accessories, lingerie...), and I went the other way looking for a coffee shop. As I passed their bikes, I stopped along with a few impressed tourists and looked at the Harleys. I don't know HD bikes well enough to know what they were, but they were bad-ass looking (of course). They also looked brand-new. The tires still looked new. One of them still had a sticker on the instrument cluster. Probably came out of the dealership yesterday.

I found a coffee shop on a typical corner, had a snack and a large hot Chai at a window seat while I worked on some crossword puzzles and did some people-watching. Many young women (teens) were walking around in ball gowns and jewelry. I confirmed my hunch with one of the local customers; there was a big to-do at the school that afternoon. Prom or something.

As I made my way back to my bike a couple times to pop another coin into the meter, I saw the Harley riders standing across the street from their bikes. They were watching people admiring their bikes. Three more insurance salesmen who had sold their souls to the Harley-Davidson marketing department, most likely.

When I togged up and headed out of town, it didn't take the rain long to return. Weird.





The scenery on the way up to Nakusp was great, and the weather never got too bad. Went through Silverton and New Denver on the way. Wasn't Colorado back that-a-way a couple thousand miles?





The road took a southern curve around a very long lake (as in hundreds of miles long), then the road ended at a ferry crossing in a town called Needles.









The sign said that the ferry crossed back and forth every 30 minutes, and I saw it docked on the other bank. I waited by myself for a while, walked around a bit, and just before the half-hour, several cars showed up all at once. I guess that when the local ferry is a regular part of your commute, you know when to show up.







When they dropped the ramp, I mounted up. Had to wait while they off-loaded the cars, and I saw that those cars that had parked off to one side on the big deck were the last ones allowed off. When they lifted the gate that barred our way, I motored up onto the ferry like I had done so a thousand times (this was my first). Once onboard, I rode to the right side of the deck, out of the direct line of traffic, put the sidestand down and shut off the motor as the big, bold sign instructed. I also stayed "in the vehicle until the ferry is underway," as the sign required. Once we were moving, I walked around the deck for a bit, but it was a pretty quick crossing. From a display I saw, there was apparently a duty-free (?) shop on board, but you would have to make a dash for it.



As we neared the opposite bank, a ferry worker came and deliberately stood in front of my bike, which was not a surprise (since I had moved out of the direct line of traffic). He and I chatted for a bit in the drizzle while they lowered the ramp and the other cars drove off. He asked if I followed hockey, then he told me that Detroit had taken the cup before I could answer. Then he moved aside and let me ride off.

The sun came out for the rest of the day, but it was still cool enough while riding that I left all my gear on. The roads and mountain scenery were great all the way to Vernon, BC.



The first Canadian police that I had seen were making radar stops on the road, waving violators to the side of the road. On-coming cars had flashed their lights to warn us, so we were mostly a parade of well-behaved motorists going by them.

The small towns were like small towns anywhere, the cities were the same. The greatest variety was in the mid-sized towns that were big enough to have developed a sense of character but not yet big enough to become a commercial wasteland. The gas pump at a Shell station in Vernon did not like my credit card, and it took several trips inside to finally get some gas. The teems in charge of the place had no idea how to do anything aside from run the cash register, so I finally just pre-paid for $20 and rode away with a half-full tank. Gas prices ranged from $1.35 - $1.46 per liter. Much more expensive than in the U.S. Anyone else for $6-7 per gallon?

As I had ridden into Vernon, I had seen one Golden Eagle swooping down for something in the scrubby trees and a few deer along the road. Not as much wildlife as I had expected to see.

I had an early dinner at a Chinese buffet, and the middle-aged waitress who was responsible for my section was very chatty. She insisted on going outside to see my bike, then came back in and asked me all about it. She seemed almost desperate for conversation, but that's just my take. She did give me some advice on local scenic roads, and when I told her which way I was thinking of going and that I was hoping to camp again that night, she bounded off to make phone calls. She returned with a slip of paper that had the address, phone number, directions, costs, and the campsite owner's name written on it. She had all but made a reservation in my name. When I told her that I had changed my mind, and was going to detour south to go through the vinyards and orchards, she seemed distressed. She complained that she had called Luke and told him that I was coming, and she kept trying to hand me the info-splattered slip of paper. I took the paper and appologized for causing Luke such confusion. She slumped (but no longer bounded) away to tell Luke the bad news. It was sad.

Heading south was a choice to spend more time around the lakes and mountains in the area. There were brochures in every gas station and restaurant that bragged about "The Wine Capital of Canada" in the area of Oliver, BC. Okay, let's go see.



The lake was pretty, crossed one large bridge. Canada must be big on golf, since they mark every golf course with big, government signs along the roadway and there were many such signs. But then, they also had signs for every B&B, inn, restaurant, campground, motel, gas station, winery, all in the same tourist-info blue color.

It was getting late, getting dark due to the mountains (the lake was in a deep valley) and I was searching for a camping place. There was no hope of finding a wilderness site, since the whole region was well-developed and strewn with vinyards and orchards. I finally chose a municipal campground in a town marked Summerland on my map. I never saw a Summerland sign on the road, though. The campsite was totally full, the steward informed me. Big end-of-year ball tournament in the area. I assumed he meant baseball, but what do I know? There certainly were enough teens running around and whooping that I was happy to move on. The steward suggested another campsite on the lake's edge just a few kilometers down the road.

I followed his directions, found the Ilehie Beach campground and RV park. Actually, it was more of a mobile home park, with trailer homes and RVs that had been there for decades. Maybe 10% of the site was available for guests passing through. I filled out a registration form with fake information (all in fun, eh?) and put my $20 into an envelope, dropped it through the mail slot (as directed on the envelope and the sign on the locked door of the office), and puttered quietly in the semi-darkness to find which camp site I had selected, sight-unseen.

The tent sites were all together along one side of the grounds. Each numbered site had exactly one big tree, one small tree, one picnic table, one combined water spigot/sprinkler head, and a lot of deep, rich, luxurious well-mowed grass. It was wonderful to just lay on the lush grass in the cool, light breeze coming off the water, listening to the lake sounds and distant passing traffic on the highway.

I snored myself awake and sat up abruptly to look around, embarassed at myself. There was one other tent a few sites down the row, but no evidence of life. Whew.

As I was setting up my tent (it was a shame to punch holes in that thick sod), a van with a plumber's logo on it drove slowly up to one of the mobile homes across from the tent sites. The guy got out wearing his plumber's coveralls and carrying a big bucket of tools that said "plumbers lay more pipe" on it. He saw me and came over to say hi. I asked if he was a plumber by chance, and for some reason he thought that was the funniest thing he had heard all day. We chatted for a while, but we were both tired and we said our good-nights.

For the first time, I set the tent up without the full-cover rain fly. The tent (Hammerhead 2, from Mountain Hardware) has big screened sections that be covered or uncovered, so it is very versatile. The sky was clear, stars aplenty.



(edit due to post-length limit... continued below)

[SgtMarty]

(continued)

I sat on the picnic table and had some wine. The facilities were on the other side of the grounds, so I walked around the place, admiring some of the landscaping that had been done around the permanent mobile homes. I was used to trashy mobile home parks and crappy facilities in such places, but this was all very well done and well-maintained.

I would think that some of these homes were vacation homes for people who live elsewhere part of the year. They did not all look as if they were currently occupied, but most did.

For the first time in 3 days, I got out of my Darien riding pants (worn over lightweight nylon pants). Gonna need a shower and do some laundry soon. I fell asleep as soon as I stretched out in the tent.

No, it didn't rain.

Wonderful.

[kubota650]

Great read and great pics...will be waiting for the next installment. Glad to see that you are not falling down as much, I was beginning to worry a little. With all of the wet stuff don't forget to oil that chain. Be safe and have a great time.

[AmazingJas]

Awesome