A PDF version of this report is now available here: Tim "Two Wheel Nut's" Alaskan Adventure


Due to limitations imposed by the Forum's software, this ride report has been posted in four parts. This Post #1 is Part One. Post #2 (below) in this thread is Part Two, Post # 3 is Part Three and, of course, Post # 4 is Part Four.





ROUTE MAP

Thanks to the gallant efforts of Gary (Duff on the Forum), Hal (Kaitsdad), Jeff (HaulinAshe), and Rob (Pawtracks, his version appears below), enough data from Tim's GPS was able to be recovered/reconstructed so that a route map could be created:






HYDER OR BUST - TIM "TWO WHEEL NUT" BATES' ALASKAN ADVENTURE

This Ride Report represents an attempt to capture some of the feel, the flavor and the sensibilities of the ride that Tim and I took together just before and after the NAFO meet in Golden, Colorado. We traveled just under 6,000 miles on the FJRs and at least another three hundred on ferries. It was an incredible ride and, combined, we took well over a thousand photographs. Less than one-tenth of those are presented here, but hopefully Tim's joi de vive, his particular love of being on the open road, and his sense of adventure will come through. When I started this project, I naively thought that I had a chance at writing this up as if everything were normal. I was wrong. As a result, while many of the usual components of ride reports are to be found within, the report also contains occasional references to things as they are, as opposed to things being the way that we all wish they were.



PART ONE 19 July 2008 to 30 July 2008

CARPENTERIA, CALIFORNIA to JASPER, ALBERTA CANADA


Saturday 19 July 2008 
Carpenteria, California and Tarzana, California to Williams, Arizona

Tim and I met up at Four Points (Palmdale), gassed up, checked out the radios (problems, as always, but that's another long story) and headed east on Highway 138. The day was a scorcher with temperatures reaching over 110 as we traveled north and then east on Interstate Highways 15 and 40. As we climbed up the hills toward Flagstaff things cooled down a bit. We stayed overnight in Williams. The town was basically sold out by the time we arrived and we ended up at a 60's-vintage motel that looked like nothing had been maintained, let alone updated, since the place originally opened, although we did have a great dinner at a local restaurant (al fresco b-b-q steaks, grilled veggies, baked potatoes and iced tea).


Sunday 20 July 2008
Williams, Arizona to Crested Butte, Colorado

We woke early, ready for our first full day on the road away from our respective homes. We rode AZ 64 north from Williams to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. This portion of the ride climbed upward through forested, mountainous terrain.






After spending a couple of hours leisurely traversing the South Rim, we headed east to Highway 89 North. We then dropped back down into, and, once again found ourselves crossing, the desert. Our route took us up through Tuba City, we stopped for lunch at a Sonic ("America's Drive In") in Kayenta, AZ, and continued on Highway 160 to Four Corners, which Tim had never seen. On our way, we saw a Reservation Law Enforcement Officer, who was driving a pickup with a camper shell and towing a boat, pull over someone in a BMW sedan. Unfortunately, there is no photo but Tim laughed about it for weeks.

Temperatures were, again, in the triple digits as we turned off the highway and pulled into the Four Corners Monument. This roadside attraction is controlled by the local tribes who, I strongly suspect, laugh their asses off at the thought of the Whiteman's fascination with imaginary lines intersecting in the middle of the desert. Still, they are happy to collect entrance fees so folks can photograph this: 






We continued north and stopped for gas in Dolores, Colorado where our climb up into the Colorado Rockies began. High-speed sweepers along a swiftly moving river put big smiles on our faces. We continued uphill, and upstream, to Rico, Colorado where we stopped to take a break and to chat about what we were seeing up the road above Lizard Head pass.






That was rain we were seeing, but we were not "seeing" clearly. We covered our tank bags and duffle bags with rain covers but, still being in the "it's-freaking-hot-so-what-if-it-rains-we'll-just-cool-off-and-it'll-be-great" mode, elected not to don our personal rain gear. Big mistake. Fifteen minutes, and a few thousand feet in elevation gain, later, it's pouring rain, hailing like crazy, the rear ends are stepping out more than a tad, and we are soaked and cold. Lizard Head Pass is as gorgeous as the more famous, and almost-adjacent-just-to-the-east, Million Dollar Highway, but we did not get to see much of it with our eyes glued to the road ahead.

We kept riding until we had dropped back down out of the inclement weather, stopped outside Telluride to change into dry clothing, and continued on Highways 62, 550 and 50 to Crested Butte, Colorado where I have been fortunate enough to have owned a small condo for the past fifteen years. We arrived in time to kill a few $9-a-pop imported French beers (I forget the brand but it was worth the cost, at least after this day's ride) at a local bistro and turned in.



Monday 21 July 2008
Crested Butte, Colorado

We headed down to the local hardware store so that I could buy, and install, an in-line fuse to replace one that had blown on my bike. At least we were hoping that a fuse had blown. Off with the panels. Yep, it's the fuse. My kind of problem. On with the panels. That being our only scheduled task, we spent the balance of a relaxing day hitting the local ski shops, visiting at the post office, and going for a ride. An afternoon thunderstorm cut the ride short so we spent the afternoon on the porch watching it rain. It was as heavy a downpour as either of us had seen in a long, long time. Lots of lightning and thunder, too. Some of it quite nearby. 

Later, we took the shuttle bus down the hill into town (due to the rain and the fact that we planned to have a drink or two with dinner, we left the FJRs in the garage) where a friend who lives about five miles south met us with his truck. Now, my friend Michael Baim hails from Chicago and I knew Tim had friends in Crested Butte who also came from the Windy City. A quick "degrees-of separation" conversation ensued. Will anyone be surprised to find out that (1) the Baims knew Tim's friends very well and (2) that there was a lot to talk about over dinner? 

Michael and his wife, Mary Shannon (an agnostic Jew and a "retired" Catholic, an eminently workable combination, as Tim and I had long since discovered) had prepared a feast of home grilled beef ribs, good red wine, salad, garlic bread, desert and more. At one point during the preparation phase someone asked if they should cut apart the "extra" slab o' ribs or put them away uncut. Silly question. After dinner, Tim and Michael had a pinball shoot-out on the Baim's wonderfully restored Adams Family-themed pinball machine.



Tuesday 22 July 2008
Crested Butte, Colorado

Tim and I cruised down to Elk Avenue, the main street, for lunch and parked ourselves in the sunshine on the patio of the Brick Oven Pizza restaurant. We spent a few hours enjoying the food, watching the local fauna stroll past, and waiting for Michael (madmike2) to arrive. Michael was visiting relatives not too far away (by his quite liberal standards) and decided to ride into town to visit. The three of us sat on the porch, talked about everything from motorcycles, to WFO 7 and NAFO, to politics, to family, to questions of faith, watched it rain and watched the sun set. A damned pleasant afternoon if I may say so myself. We walked up to the base of the ski area and ate dinner at the Avalanche, a local restaurant. King Crab Legs were the special at the Avalanche that night but neither Tim nor I ordered them. We were saving ourselves, at least seafood-wise, for Alaska


This is what Tim saw when he stood on the porch and looked toward the condo, Okay, nothing special, but . . . . . 





. . . . . . . fortunately, a more impressive sight was to be seen by turning around and looking toward the west . . . . . .





Wednesday 23 July 2008
Mike and Tim Crested Butte, Colorado to Golden, Colorado

Having NAFO-related responsibilities that evening, Mike and Tim headed on to the Golden, Colorado Marriott while I stayed on in Crested Butte to meet up with Ed (Pegscrapper), Jacquie (Ms Nascar), Rick (Ric N Sac) and Karen (aka the Den Mother) who had, coincidentally, planned to stop in Crested Butte on their way to the first-ever North American FJR Owners meeting. 


Tim and Mike crossed the Continental Divide (for the first time of many), caught up with Richard (Fairlaner) on the road and continued on to NAFO.












Thursday 24 July 2008
Joseph Crested Butte, Colorado to Golden, Colorado

Rick, Karen, Jacquie, Ed and I headed on to NFO together via US Highway 50 and CO Highway 285 (this photo was actually taken by Ed a day or two earlier, I believe, along Highway 550, north of Durango, Colorado).







NAFO has been covered extensively elsewhere so not much about it will be added here. 



Friday 25 July 2008
NAFO

While at NAFO, we talked with several people who had been to various parts of Alaska. We gathered a lot of information about roads to take, sights to see and, of course, places to eat. I would like to sincerely thank everyone with whom Tim and I chatted. Your help made the journey even more enjoyable - except for the unpaved roads that were suggested. Those made the trip, shall we say, more interesting.



Saturday 26 July 2008
NAFO

It turns out that about the time we were all finishing moving machinery around the parking lot, Tim was taking this shot of the assembled riders and their bikes from the window of his top floor executive suite. In hindsight, we should have been flipping him off.





Sunday 27 July 2008 
Golden, Colorado to Cody, Wyoming

George (Coyote) decided to ride along with us miscreants for a day or so. The three of us headed out from Golden on Interstate 70 west. We turned off on CO 40 north followed by 125 north, to 230 north to 130 north to Interstate 80 west, to 287 north to 135 north to 26 north to 120 north and arrived in Cody late that evening. Tim and I set up at the local KOA campground while George, who was not traveling with camping gear, found a room in town. We all met for dinner in Cody. The town was packed with motorcycles (mostly Harleys, of course) and we ended up walking the length of the town twice before we found a place we could get into to eat. The KOA had nice, hot showers, but the campground never got dark and never grew quiet. Slept pretty well, though, all things considered.






Monday 28 July 2008
Cody, Wyoming to Glacier National Park, Montana

We rode 120 north out of town to Highway 296, the wonderful and, I feel, wonderfully-named Chief Joseph Highway. Big sweepers with some tighter turns, smooth road surface and gorgeous scenery. If you are in the area be sure not to miss riding this road. We stopped at a lookout to get a photo of the highway and to document our presence.















One of the many wonderful things about the Chief Joseph Highway is that it connects to Highway 212 - the equally wonderful, but very, very different Bear Tooth Pass road. Bear Tooth Pass is quite technical, tight in many spots, and is poorly maintained. It rises back up into the mountains and even in late July there was lots of snow and ice by the side of the road. 

We bid goodbye to Coyote at the intersection. He headed west toward home while Tim and I headed north (and slightly east because that's where the Bear Tooth Pass road goes). Here is a photo of George with the motorcycles at the intersection of the Chief Joseph Highway and Bear Tooth Pass Road.






There were no pictures that really captured the essence of Bear Tooth Pass but here is one that does show some of the above-the-timberline scenery.






After descending from the top of the pass, we continued on Highway 78 north, Interstate 90 west and 89 north to St. Mary, Montana. This portion of the trip went smoothly except for a stretch of road where a woman wearing a day-glo orange vest and holding a stop sign on a pole awaited us. She asked how our motorcycles handled gravel. "Well," Tim told her, "that depends." "Okay," she asked, "how do they handle six to eight inches deep of freshly dropped gravel?" A fifty-mile detour ensued. But, what-the-hey, we're motorcyclists. Not a problem.

Most of the portion of the state of Montana that we rode through looked like this.






After the noise and light pollution of the KOA in Cody, I was able to convince Tim that it was worth it to forego the showers and that we should "set up shop" in a less suburban type of campground. We camped that night on the east side of Glacier National Park.






The folks at the adjoining campsite were friendly and well provisioned. As Tim and I were "cold camping", without any means of cooking food (we did not want to attract any bears), we took our neighbors up on their kind offer of a bite to eat, a beer or two to drink and a fire near which to sit. If I remember correctly, there might have been some Single Malt involved, also.



Tuesday 29 July 2008
Glacier National Park, Montana to Banff, Alberta Canada

After a fairly cold and damp night of camping, we arose, packed up our wet gear and headed west on the well known, and highly recommended, Going to the Sun Highway. We ran that east to west (no sun in our eyes, thank you) and then took Highway 2 to 93 north. We crossed the international border at Roosville. Tim had no trouble crossing as he had, at NAFO, been declared an Honorary Citizen of Canada, and had the pin to prove it. However, the border agent asked me three times in three different ways if I was carrying any weapons and/or ammunition. I kept my sarcasm in check on that sensitive issue but when he, while looking at my passport photograph, curtly asked me why I had not taken the opportunity to remove my helmet during the fifteen minutes we had waited in line before reaching his kiosk, I told him "All The Gear All The Time." He pondered that for a moment and then waved me on. We then headed north on 95 to CA 1 (that's Canada, not California though we were on that road also, later) then east and back south to Banff. We tried, along the way, to see a spot where, we had been told, "God goes to vacation" but that lake proved to be accessible only with reservations made months in advance because people had been stealing antiquities from the site. After two nights of camping, we checked into a nice hotel in Banff, spread our wet gear out to dry and, you guessed it, headed for a nice dinner. I drank some very good red wine with the meal. Tim drank, you guessed it again, Jack.



Wednesday 30 July 2008
Banff, Alberta to Jasper, Alberta

When, at a planning meeting for the trip, Gary (Duff) had suggested that Tim and I (and Gary, too, at the time we talked) head to the Canadian Rockies, I replied that I had been lucky enough to have been there already, several times, and, yes, I darned well would go again. Tim, however, had only heard of the wondrous sights. Well, Tim, here you are. Unfortunately, it is raining. On go the rain covers, and this time, our own rain gear. We head first through the town of Banff for a cruise around the golf course at the Banff Springs Hotel. Tim swears he saw a wolf while we putted along side one of the fairways. Although I missed seeing it, I believe the man saw what he said he saw. We stopped at Bow Falls for a break (we'd only been riding for half and hour so the break wasn't really needed) and a photo (definitely a must).






I don't know which was prettier, the sky or the falls, but it was a wonderful spot to linger. Fortunately, we only had a couple hundred miles of riding planned that day so "smell the roses" was high on the agenda.

Next we rode north to Lake Louise - rightfully regarded as one of the world's most beautiful spots. It's so beautiful that dozens of busloads of tourists cannot spoil the view. Unfortunately, rain and low clouds can. And did. Here are two shots taken at the lake that day and one I dug up on line so those who have never been to Lake Louise can see what Tim, and you, have missed.












We then continued north along the Icefields Parkway, focusing our attention not only on the road and the scenery, but also on the sides of the road. We were definitely in elk and bear country and hitting one would not have made the trip more pleasant. We did see a Yosemite-style crowd of vehicles where a small black bear had been spotted in the woods just off the side of the road, and we also some awe-inspiring scenery. One of the advantages of traveling on a rainy day is that, if one is lucky, the storm will break at some point, the sky will partially clear, and the colors and light will become truly wonderful to see. We had a glorious afternoon's ride.







This shot is of the terminal moraine at the foot of the Columbia Ice Fields glacier. Water from the glacier flows to the Pacific Ocean, the Atlantic Ocean and the Arctic Ocean. A three-way continental divide if you will.






We parked the motorcycles, hiked up to the toe of the glacier and, because it was a bit chilly, were happy that motorcycle gear works pretty well in the mountains. Heck, it's all rip stop nylon, Gore-Tex, kevlar and polypropylene now anyhow.









Continuing north, now there's a big surprise, we next stopped at Athabasca Falls. I have always loved this waterfall because you view it mostly from the top looking down, and because, while it is impressive in size, it's also small enough to be comprehensible. The photos do not begin to capture the raw power of the falls.









Just south of Jasper we saw several large elk by the side of the road. Fortunately, they stayed off the road as we rode past them. We continued into Jasper and checked into a hotel at the edge of town. Once again, walking to dinner was the order of the day. About halfway into the dozen-or-so-block-long walk to the center of town, I turned right to cut across a park. Tim asked what I was doing adding that "Town is that way" and pointing in the direction we had been walking. I explained that, having been to Jasper before, I knew an alternate, more pastoral, way to where we were going. We could have headed along either route. Why I picked one instead of the other I do not know, but, as we crossed the park, I saw my friend Sam from Boston standing there, thousands of miles from his home. "What are you doing here in Jasper?" we asked each other. "Tim and I are looking for an Italian restaurant for dinner.” "Well, we've got reservations at an Italian restaurant down the street," Sam replied. We joined Sam and several members of his traveling party for dinner. Small world. 

HYDER OR BUST - TIM "TWO WHEEL NUT" BATES' ALASKAN ADVENTURE

PART TWO 31 JULY 2008 to 02 AUGUST 2008 

JASPER, ALBERTA to PRINCE RUPERT, BRITISH COLUMBIA



Thursday 31 July 2008
Jasper, Alberta to Smithers, British Columbia

This day was a fairly long one spent riding northwest across British Columbia on Route 16. Just west of Jasper we rode past a spot where, several years earlier Armand (Big Dolma) and I had been the recipients of a not-too-friendly wave and shout from a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who was, as of that very moment, just-not-quite-yet finished setting up his radar equipment. I think we waved back. Ah, memories.

Tim and I thought we might call it a day as early as Prince George. We thought we might push it all the way to Hyder, Alaska. As it turned out, we rode as far as Smithers, BC (probably not named for Montgomery Burns's assistant). Even though it was only about six-thirty in the evening when we knocked off, we got the last room at the inn. The scenery that day had been, well, not spectacular, but certainly beautiful. 









Friday 01 August 2008
Smithers, B.C. to Hyder, Alaska and Stewart, B.C.


Okay, today is the day we reach Alaska. Well, it's "only" Hyder but it is Alaska and we will have ridden from Los Angles to Alaska on motorcycles so it really is damned cool. I have been to forty-nine states, the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico. Today I will set foot in my final state of the Fifty Nifty U. S. of A. Tim had been to Alaska before but had arrived by airplane. Riding there on the bikes was truly different. We were both excited as we got on Route 16 heading west. When we reached the village of Kitwanga, and the intersection with Highway 37, the anticipation grew as we saw this sign . . . . .






Only 145 miles to Hyder! We topped off the fuel tanks and, after traveling mostly west for a couple of days, we were now headed decidedly north. The speedometers began to creep up just a bit and some short time later we reached Meziadin Junction, the site of a now defunct gas station. The only thing left is an abandoned building and some signs. Still, the place oozed character . . . . . . . . and mosquitoes.









Meziadin Junction is also where Route 37A splits off from Route 37. This was it, the "spur" road to Hyder, Alaska. Almost there. The scenery was beautiful, and quite distracting, as we approached Hyder.












Remember that sign back in Kitwanga earlier this morning? It said that we would reach Bear Glacier before we reached Stewart, BC and then Hyder, AK. Hmmmm. What will that glacier look like? Why is it called Bear Glacier? Look at the mountains. Watch the road. Scan the roadside for beasties. Look at the mountains. Where is that glacier? What the hell is that? Damn! Is that a freaking bear? A grizzly? Ohmygod! Quick, stop!! 

Just the previous evening, Tim had been explaining to a waitress that "Our bikes have 145 horse power so we can outrun any bears." Well, Tim, how do we both get a half a ton of bike, rider and gear turned around before about that much, or more, bear, at the momment just a hundred yards or so from us, but is he going to charge us, reaches us? Okay, then we'll just ride right at, and speed on by, it. Will kevlar riding gear protect one from a bear paw swipe? Will my head still be in the helmet as it rolls down the road?

The bear, definitely a good-sized grizzly, emerged from the woods, crossed one lane, stopped in the second, turned, stared right at us for a few seconds as if considering his options, and . . . . . and . . . . . ambled off into the woods on the far side of the road. Why does a bear cross the road? To get to the other side. 

Neither Tim nor I had the presence of mind to whip out a camera (or the thought even to try) so we don't have a photo of that bear, though we did reach the now-aptly-named Bear Glacier a few minutes later.







Shortly thereafter, we rode through "downtown" Stewart and crossed the border into Alaska. 






We continued through town (not much to see, as you can see) until we reached the"world famous" Sealaska Inn.” It looks pretty well-worn in the daylight. It does mark, however, mile zero of the Alaska-Yukon Highway.






We then rode out on the pier to get a good look at the bay. Fortunately the day, though overcast, was, to this point, dry and so were the wooden planks.






Well, Bro', we are here! Hugs and high fives. We made it. We had first talked about riding to Alaska back in 2004 and we freakin' did it. It's on the bucket list. "Like breaking a hundred, I can die now," I said. Excuse me for a moment. That conversation really did happen. Curses and tears, now. If I had only known. Expletives deleted.

Okay, now what?. Well, let's head for the Bear Walk and maybe ride up to Salmon Glacier . . . . . but that's 18 miles of steep, unpaved road each way so let's give it some more thought. 

The Bear Walk is a raised wooden platform paralleling a stream. People walk along the platform. Bears walk along the stream. What a concept! When there are salmon in the stream there are often bears there too, and the 2008 Hyder Bear Festival was going to start only three days later. Maybe our timing, though totally coincidental, was going to be good. 

We rode out to the Bear Walk (the pavement ended before we got there) and talked with the ranger. "Lots of bears here yesterday," he said, "but only a small black bear so far today." We each paid our $5 USD for an all-day, visit-as-many-times-as-you-like pass and went on in.









After a half-hour or so of watching that small black bear, and waiting, optimistically, for more and larger bears to appear, we asked the ranger about the road up to Salmon Glacier. It's passable he says, not too much worse that what's right out front. Should we? Well, Dave says we can do it. Yeah. But, when he rode up there he was on a V-Strom, right, not an FJR? Still, the man knows of what he speaks. In any case, off we went, 18 miles, each way, of FJR dirt biking. Keep moving. Slowly but steadily. Brake on the straightaways, not the curves, and stay off the front brake. This isn't too bad - yet. The potholes are nicely spaced, like moguls only closer together. Okay, this should only take about an hour each way. Bounce, bounce, bounce, thud, bounce, thud, bounce, skid, bounce.........

We did make it up almost to the very top and were rewarded with the most spectacular views on a trip filled with spectacular views. Some of these photos have been posted before but, when I am not sitting here depressed, mad at the world, sorry for Tim and his family, and, candidly, sorry for myself, I do enjoy looking at them and thinking about how they came to be taken.


















We spent about an hour enjoying where we were, looking at the glacier and the darkening skies, and then headed back down the mountain. I remember thinking quite a bit during the entire ride back, which took about forty-five minutes. What I was thinking was that, if it starts to rain, we're screwed. Big time. We'll be stuck here 'till next spring. Of course, though neither of us noted it at the time, and did not until the next day, we had gone as far as we were to have gone on this trip and were now headed home.

On our way back through Hyder, we stopped again at the Bear Walk and got shut out. No bears. Oh, well. Then we stopped at The Bus for a lunch of halibut and chips, and at the post office to mail a postcard or two. 












After lunch, we parked in front of, and went into, the Hyder Inn - where people go to get "Hyderized". I asked the barkeep what was in that infamous (at least among the long distance motorcycle riding community) concoction but she just smiled and said that she couldn't tell me until after I had had one to drink. Since we still had some riding to do that day we had to pass.





We rode back to the Stewart, B.C. side and actually had to go through a manned Canadian border crossing station to do so. There had been no border control station as we crossed from Canada to the U.S. and entered Hyder, AK. Apparently, Homeland Security is willing to write off Hyder, but if you cross into Canada, and you have to do that because there are no roads out of Hyder except the one back to Stewart, you have to deal with the Canadian immigration authorities. No passports were demanded and we had a nice long chat with the border guard who recommended a hotel on the Canadian side.


We found the hotel in Stewart (only a couple of miles from the border crossing) and sidled up to the front desk. A room with two beds was $130 CDN or, if we preferred, we could have two single rooms in the annex across the street, a former brothel, for $55 CDN for each room. Tough choice. We checked in. 






After unpacking some gear, and lugging it up three flights of narrow stairs to our respective rooms, we returned to the front desk to complain the brothel was not functioning. Then we headed back to the Bear Walk.

We were in luck. A juvenile grizzly had just left its paw prints in the mud of the parking lot ("Look at the size of those prints!") and was, at that very moment, down at the stream. So, while we could not photograph the bear on the road, we did get to see a grizzly up close and personal (but not too up close and personal). I am pretty sure that TWN's totem is a bear.....just the right mix of fuzziness and orneriness.









We got back on the bikes, once again chatted with the guard at the border crossing and headed back to our hotel. That was it, then, we were done with Alaska, at least for this trip.






I don't know if the grizzly at the Bear Walk went away well fed that evening, but Tim and I had an excellent meal (Alaskan King Crab legs, of course, a great salad, rice pilaf, and good beer) at the Bitter Creek Café, conveniently located driectly below our rooms - our shortest walk to dinner of the entire trip. Looking back, this is what could legitimately be described as a "full day".



Saturday 02 August
Stewart, British Columbia to Prince Rupert, British Columbia

That morning we loaded up the bikes and started our long trek to the south. We had a ferry to catch in Prince Rupert early the next day and, if we missed it, we would have a 1,200-mile backtracking detour to ride. Based on what we had learned in Golden, we planned to backtrack as far as Cranberry Junction (roughly 30 miles south of the 37/37A junction) and, from there, ride a thirty-mile, potholed, dirt and gravel west to more-or-less the town of New Ayansh where a freshly paved road would then take us south, to Terrace, British Columbia. From there we would pick up our old friend Highway 16 west to Prince Rupert and, for good or evil, some semblance of civilization.. 

When, while still parked on the main drag of Stewart, I punched our next destination (New Ayansh) into my GPS, it returned a message the likes of which I had never seen (and I have seen my ol' Street Pilot III do some very, very odd things). 






Well, we did find the gravel road, we hit all our marks, and we reached our destination. How do I know this? Well, my teeth are still loose. My bike and gear are still dusty. Here is a shot from the western end of the unpaved portion looking back the way we had just come.







Other than the gravel section, all of those roads were smooth, uncrowded, and really fun to ride. Lava flows, big sweepers, lakes, mountains. Definitely top ten material. 







If you ever find yourself in the Canadian Rockies, with not enough time to head too much farther north, I recommend riding west from Jasper to Prince Rupert and taking one of the ferries back south.

Prince Rupert turned out to be a bit of a down-and-out hardcore maritime town. We checked into the hotel, had an early dinner (Italian), went to sleep and, except for the drunks waking us up at one point with their boisterous fighting, slept until 4:30 a.m. We were supposed to be in line for the ferry at 05:30h . . . . . . . . . . . . 

HYDER OR BUST - TIM "TWO WHEEL NUT" BATES' ALASKAN ADVENTURE


PART THREE 02 AUGUST 2008 - 04 AUGUST 2008 

PRINCE RUPERT, BRITISH COLUMBIA TO VICTORIA, VANCOUVER ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA


Sun 03 August 2008
Prince Rupert, B.C. to Port Hardy, Vancouver Island B.C. via Ferry


…. . . . . . . . . . . . . and we were.






While waiting for the ship's 07:30h departure, we talked with a couple of fellows who had spent a month or so slogging through the mud in the "real Alaska" on their motorcycles. Tim and I decided that the trip we were presently on was just the scouting mission for the next trip and began to rough out the logistics of that ride. Two days ride north from Socal to Seattle or Vancouver, take a ferry as far north as we can take one, then back on the bikes and head further north to . . . . . .

The ferry ride we did take from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy, on the northern tip of Vancouver Island, lasted roughly fifteen hours. Beautiful scenery the entire way but, ........ enough already! Between us, Tim and I took a dozen shots of the Canadian flag flying off the stern of the ship. It got a bit tedious but was still quite a pleasant way to spend a day.

The ship we were on looked a lot like this one.






The Prince Rupert ferry terminal docks looked like this.






The tie downs for the bikes used a nifty design that employed metal plates with ropes attached. You slipped the flat plate into a slotted "anchor" plate built into the ship's auto deck, pulled the rope tight, and, in this manner, secured the bike to keep it from falling over if the seas got rough. They didn't and they didn't.






Did I mention that the trip lasted fifteen hours? Sometimes there was interesting stuff to photograph, sometimes not.















At one point we got to see some whales. Difficult to photograph, though. By the time you realized you were seeing one it was too late to take aim with the camera. Tim did manage to get a shot where you can just barely make one out in the water (or maybe not), and another where he was able to capture the splash after one breached.









Did I mention that the ferry ride lasted fifteen hours?

When I got really bored, I would start fooling around with the filters on my camera.

One pill makes your larger, and one pill . . . . . 










Dinner was not a gourmet repast but nobody was complaining. . . . . . . .…






…. . . . . . . . least of all this fellow.






We docked in Port Hardy after nightfall, rode to the hotel, checked in and went to sleep. Oh yeah, before turning in, we had one more task to take care of. As with every other night on the journey, we had to feed electrons to our gadgets. Let’s see, two cell phones, three radios with four batteries, an Ipod, three cameras with extra batteries for each, and I cannot even remember what else. "We need a room for two people with two beds and at least a dozen electrical outlets, please."



Monday 04 August 2008
Port Hardy, Vancouver Island to Victoria, Vancouver Island

When we awoke we got our fist real look at the town of Port Hardy. It seemed to be a pleasant town and there were some tall ships in the harbor. I would definitely go back and check it out in more detail.






We could not tarry too long, however, because we were going to meet some friends about halfway down the 300-mile long island. The plan was to meet my friend Mark, and his friend and business partner Petr (not misspelled, he is Czech) at the Mt. Washington Ski Area, roughly half-way down the island. Mark and Petr were coming up from Victoria. Mark was riding his Harley and Petr was on a rented ST1300. On our way south, Tim reached a milestone on his FJR. Of course, he had to stop and take a picture.







We headed down the east side of the island. A few hours later we climbed to the west up a fairly large mountain and arrived at the base of the Mt. Washington ski area. We parked the bikes and waited. While waiting, I tried to make contact with Mark to find out where he and Petr were enroute. We hadn't had cell phone service since Port Hardy and they were not answering now ................






… ..................... but only a few minutes later






A pretty satisfying logistical feat considering the months of planning, dozens of telephone calls and emails, ferry reservations (and wait lists) that it had taken to engineer that moment. We cut the "new kids" some slack for their gear and their "rides".

We ate lunch at the ski area…- a mediocre buffet remarkable only for the giant bug that landed in a water glass. Sorry, no photo, but it was huge, ugly and, if it had happened in the states we would all be retired now. The ride south to Victoria was beautiful......... and hot. The island was crowded because it was B.C. Day, which commemorates British Columbia's becoming a Canadian Province. The 150th anniversary, as it turns out. The city of Victoria was jumping that evening. Bachman-Turner Overdrive was playing outdoors by the harbor. The streets were jammed with cars and people and many streets had been closed off to motor vehicles with police barricades. Fortunately, Petr is a local and Mark owns a restaurant there (although he lives on Vashon Island in Puget Sound near Seattle) and seems to know everyone in, and around, Victoria. Between the two of them, we found all the back roads to get around the traffic jams and talked our way past all the Mounties.

Petr headed for his nearby home while Tim, Mark and I somehow arrived at our hotel a couple miles (excuse me, several kilometers) from the city center and directly on the waterfront. We checked in. We hauled gear up to the room. We moved outside to the balcony and plopped down in chairs. We looked out over the Strait of Juan de Fuca . We opened the Scotch. We emptied the Scotch. Mark opened the rum. Tim opened the Jack (I was still nursing some scotch). We watched the sun set toward the west end of the Strait. 






The preceding picture is one of only two stock photos used in this report, though it is a picture of a sunset over the Strait of San Juan de Fuca and it does closely resemble what we saw that evening. Which is fortuitous because, in real time, none of us was remotely able to deal competently with photographic equipment. 

About the time it got dark outside, we came to the collective realization that it was now something like 22:00h, that we had not eaten dinner, and that there was no way we were going to gear up and ride anywhere to eat. There were no restaurants nearby, or markets either for that matter. While we were working a plan to get something to eat, a pizza delivery guy pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel. We could tell by the markings on the car. We asked him, by shouting down from the balcony, if he could come back with some more pizza. He replied that, coincidentally, someone had just canceled an order and he had two spare large pizzas. Did we want them? Let's see, there are three of us. One large pizza or two? That, of course, was a silly question. 

HYDER OR BUST - TIM "TWO WHEEL NUT" BATES' ALASKAN ADVENTURE


PART FOUR 05 AUGUST 2008 to 09 AUGUST 2008 

VICTORIA, B.C. to CARPENTERIA, CALIFORNIA



Tuesday 05 August 2008
Victoria, Vancouver Island to Vashon Island, Washington


Victoria is an extremely lovely little city. It is famous, among other things, for the Empress Hotel where they serve High Tea. Guys, ask your significant others. Trust me, they know. 






Rather than practice raising our little fingers, though, we headed to Floyds. Mark and Petr own and run Floyd's Diner, a breakfast-and-lunch-only restaurant. The entire trip I had been saying to Tim that we'd get to see the Grand Canyon, we'd get to go to NAFO, we'd get to see Glacier National Park, we'd go to the Blue Canadian Rockies, we'd reach Alaska and we'd get to eat breakfast at Floyd's. I think he thought I was nuts. Then he went there. Floyd's prospers by serving large portions of great food (omelets, french toast, waffles, granola, yogurt, etc.) and, frankly, by employing the prettiest, most flirtatious waitresses in town. I hear they also have a couple of cute waiters for those that care about that sort of thing. We didn't notice. 

As we sipped mocha cappuccinos and enjoyed our breakfasts, one beauty after another came by to say hello to Mark who got a hug from every last one of them . . . . the lucky bastard. Apparently sexual harassment suits are infrequent in that neck of the woods and, besides, the employees seemed to genuinely like their boss who, among other claims to fame, was the first of my friends to get married and, depsite how much he may enjoy the hugs, is still, thirty-five or so years ago later, married to, and devoted to, the very lovely, and very smart Diana. 

But I digress. Sitting on the patio of Floyd's, the "not-quite-but-almost-drooling" Mr. Bates had, by all indications, attained a state of enlightenment. He, Mark and I enjoyed the sunshine, enjoyed the view, and started planning a WFO to be held in Victoria, with Floyd's serving as the mess hall.






Me, Mark and Petr inside the restaurant






"Two Wheel Nut" Bates spent the better part of an hour "in (undeclared, and, alas poor Timothy, unrequited) love" with at least one these young women . . . . .






















"Breakfast run to Floyd's?" I asked Tim, later, when we were a thousand miles south. His bike was halfway turned around before I could finish the sentence, so perhaps I need to rethink the entire grizzly-on-the-road thing. If you are ever in Victoria head to Floyd's Diner and ask for Mark or Petr. Tell them you are there to honor Tim's memory.

We then rode over to the ferry dock, checked in, wandered around the harbor for a while, went back to the waiting area, cleared emigration, handled the other Canadian formalities, and then set sail on this ship across the relatively narrow Strait of San Juan de Fuca headed for Washington State in the good old U.S. of A.






The harbor in Victoria is as busy as it is beautiful. Lots of boats, large and small, and lots of seaplane traffic. As we sailed out of port, a couple of the planes took off just off the starboard side of the ship.












We arrived on the Washington side, cleared immigration (the border agent tried to trip up Tim by telling him that his friend, me, had told the agent that I was a retired balloon-animal maker and asked did he, Tim, know this to be true?), and headed south down the Olympic Peninsula. We had plans to meet up with Barry (Barabus) for dinner at Mark's house. We did not have a long way to go so the pace was leisurely. To get there, however, we would have to take yet another ferry and Tim became a bit anxious about missing the earlier of the two boats scheduled to sail that evening and, consequently, screwing up our roundez-vous with Barry. Mark, on the other hand, had done this trip a hundred times, knew the roads and the ferry schedules very well, and knew that motorcycles got to be first in line at the ships. Arrive ten minutes before sailing, go to the head of the line, what's the problem?

We reached Mark and Di's house in plenty of time, ahead of Barry. Here is a shot of Mark waiting for the Southworth to Vashon ferry, one of the ferry itself, and a couple taken at Mark and Diana's home.















Vashon Island is still quite rural. It's a lovely, tranquil place where deer come up to nibble on the apples growing on your trees along your gravel driveway. Then you shoot the deer (buckshot only, please) and eat them. Barry arrived and, in this land of natural abundance, we all had a wonderful meal of take-out Chinese food.



Wed 06 August 2008
Vashon Island, Washington to Newport, Oregon

We departed that morning for the coast. The plan was to ride along the Pacific Ocean all the way from Seattle to Socal. Today we would ride west to Aberdeen, WA and then down the coast to Newport, OR. First, however, we had to get off the island. To do this, you are right, again, we took yet another ferry (what is this a motorcycle ride or a cruise?).

As always, there was something to attend to on the bikes.






We crossed the mighty Columbia River at Astoria, kept heading south, and spent the night in sleeping bags on the floor in Newport, OR at a house owned by a friend of Mark's sister. A wonderful home cooked meal was included.


Crossing the river.






Thursday 07 August 2008
Newport, Oregon to Fortuna, California

No photos of this day's ride but two short stories to tell.

After a half-hour on the cell phone trying to find a vacant room in Fortuna, we ended up staying at the same hotel, and in the very same two-room three-bed suite, where a group of us had stayed on our way down from WFO 3 (Moscow, Idaho). There are hundreds of hotel rooms in Fortuna. Weird.

When checking out the next morning, some guy comes up to me in the hotel lobby and asks if that's my FJR in the lot. I reply that, yes, one of them was my bike. He smiles, says nothing, but flips me the bird. I smile back and respond that I would take that in the spirit in which it had been offered. Now, either he was just jealous of the bike or he had recognized Tim's bike and was giving the appropriate salute. I didn't ask and he didn't say.



Friday 08 August 2008
Fortuna, California to Los Gatos, California

It was raining as we left Fortuna and the locals told us that it would be worse to the south. They were, fortunately, mistaken. Although there was some fog, for most of the day's ride the weather was merely overcast, and a bit chilly. Along the northern coast of California we saw (too few) sequoia trees and (too much) kitsch, although we did get a tad kitschy ourselves.














The sun came out just north of Bodega Bay. In Marin County we said goodbye to Mark (who was headed for his son's home in Oakland via the Richmond San Rafael Bridge). Tim and I continued south and rode across the Golden Gate Bridge. Always a real treat!






After wrestling with the evening San Francisco traffic, we rode down the coast to Dave (Highlander) and Diane's in the hills above Santa Cruz. Getting to their house is an adventure. The first hard-right-hand turn as we exited Highway 17 commanded our attention and we stayed alert as we wound our way along the approach. Hills, dips, hairpins, narrow pavement, organic debris and off-camber turns were rewarded by an enthusiastic and heartfelt welcome by the Higgins clan. We, too, were genuinely happy to be there - mostly because of Dave and Diane but also, truth be told, in large part because we were happy to have gotten up that road safely!






Diane had prepared a Californian feast for us. Soft chicken tacos, rice, chips, guacamole and more. We drank some beer (Newcastle Ale, of course, and Red Tail Ale, an excellent brew, too) talked for a bit, took our first look at all of the photographs we had shot on the trip, rolled out our sleeping bags and crashed on the floor.



Saturday 09 August 2008
Sat Los Gatos, California to Carpenteria/Tarzana, California

We woke early. Overnight, Dave had apparently decided that Tim and I would not be likely to find our way from his house back to the highway without his help so he graciously agreed to serve as an escort and guide for us. We loaded up the bikes and headed out.






Dave had, in fact, decided to ride with us (truth be told, ahead of us, sometimes far, far, ahead of us) down CA 1 to the southern end of Big Sur. The ride down the coast was spirited, to say the least. Tim and I had passed on double yellows two, maybe three, times during the first 5,700 miles of this trip trip and, during that time, we rarely went more that ten miles over the speed limit. No, really. That morning, the State of California could have climbed out of debt if it were able to find a way to collect on the fines we were collectively racking up (if caught and convicted). We stopped at Gorda, talked about Orangevale's dream of buying the place, had a cup of coffee and said goodbye to Dave who was turning around and heading back north to his home. Tim and I continued south to our homes.

We continued down CA 1 to US 101 at San Luis Obispo. We turned off 101 at Oceano so that we could ride along Route 1 and Highway 135. Back on the 101 at Los Alamos, through the tunnel, along the water north of Santa Barbara, past Santa Barbara, and on to Carpenteria. The journey was over. After three weeks on the road this felt pretty weird.

We parked the bikes out front of Tim and Patti's townhouse and dismounted. High fives and hugs for a long journey successfully and joyously undertaken. We went inside and took off our helmets, gloves and jackets. We then walked a couple of blocks to the local market and picked up the fixings for a late lunch. We walked back to the townhouse, put the steaks on the barbeque, cleaned the asparagus, and put the frozen fries in the oven. We talked a bit about the logistics of putting the Ride Report together. We talked about the next ride. Patti came home. More hugs. We ate lunch and I, anxious at this point to get home myself, said my "see-you-soons."

I rode the hour or so south on the 101 to Tarzana thinking about how my house plants had fared, how much time I had to pick up my dog from where he was staying, whether I had enough fuel to reach my house. Totally oblivious to what was about to happen.









In Loving Memory of Tim "Two Wheel Nut" Bates



December 13, 1957 - August 22, 2008

Let me be the first to praise you for an awesome ride report.
I can only imagine how hard that was to write, well done Joe!

I couldn't have put the route map together without the help of Dave (orestes)
Some of Tim's GPS data was corrupt and I had to piece much of it together line by line until the route made sense. 

Nice Joe.

R

 

I look forward to reading this post. 
But not until I have glass or two of Jack in front of me, just a splash of water please, and time to fully enjoy. 

Thanks in advance Joe, it must have been tough putting this one together. 

Damn,
That was tremendous! 
Thanks for the time and effort and paying such a beautiful tribute to a friend. 

We may morn the lost of a friend and brother but I have to think that Tim was truly blessed.
He left this world in a grand style many only dream of. 
Atta boy Tim. 

Very good!
What a great trip.
Thanks!
 

Perhaps oblivious is the blessing that let's us get through our lives.  

Thanks for a great write up of a wonderful adventure, Joe! 

Very nice report.  

Thanks so much for sharing this with all of us even though it had to be a difficult task. Much appreciated.

 

What a great report and a great tribute!

I had just meet Tim at NAFO, I'm glad he got that last ride. 

Thank you. 

Joe,

absolutely fantastic!! Thanks so much for sharing the adventure with us all. What a wonderful write-up. 

Great to see you and the Timmerest sharing such and amazing experience. 

Well done and well written.  

Consider yourself blessed to have taken this ride with Tim...glad you and he had a GREAT time.  

It's better not to know what lays ahead for us in life...but just to endure or savor each moment. 

This is the best damn ride report I have ever read!! it is awfully dusty in my office....  
Awesome trip.... I will end up reading this several times!! 

Thanks, Joe. 

Thanks, Tim! 

Speechless.

Thank you so much Joe.
Bravo!
 

Wow!!! Excellent.

You brought so many memories Joe. This was a superb report!


Did you go for a hike at 11:00 pm in Lake Louise?  


God bless you my friend.

Armand 

What a fabulous adventure. It makes me glad that Tim was able to take it. I'm sure it will be one of the finest memories you have in your life as well. Nice job.

-Fred