Archive for the ‘Wanderings’ Category

We’re heading north on the Alaskan Highway (or the “Scenic Route to Alaska,” as the sign pointing to it said, as if there’s another one?). There’s nothing but spindly evergreens on either side of the road in various stages of being timbered. I imagine this is what driving across Siberia is like, except with not as wide shoulders. To our left snow covered peaks occasionally peak out from behind the green hills we’re driving through.

We slept in somewhat the day before, the Black Diamond Hotel being a lot quieter in the morning than the night before. We were in room number 1, which makes me think we were the only guests. It was far quieter than the Econolodge with the room doors that all automatically slammed shut with a tremendous smack. The fog had followed us to Alberta, though not as thick. Fortunately, by the time we got to the mountains it lifted, and it was a beautiful day.

Inside Banff National Park we drove up to Lake Louise, which was, of course, covered in a thick layer of snow and, judging from the people in the parking lot, a popular destination for cross country skiing. We got gas, since that was the last place we could until we got to Jasper, and then took a detour to Emerald Lake, which also seemed to be a popular cross country skiing location. There was a shop there that alternately rented skis and canoes. A sign advised that, if a strong wind blew you to the opposite side of the lake, to just tie up your canoe and walk the trail back. Another sign displayed the area that was prone to avalanche.

We just stopped in a town called Grande Cache that is surprisingly large for being so far from anything else. Its two main industries seem to be logging (or “Forest Products”) and a correctional “service,” which we stumbled upon looking for a car wash. We did find one, but it had quite a line of giant pick ups. There’s also a coal mine right next to a power plant.

From Emerald Lake, we headed back to the highway that wound between two mountain ranges between Lake Louise and Jasper. That highway is one of the most beautiful in the world, I think, lined on either side by peak after jagged snow covered peak. Berck said, “I didn’t expect it to be as pretty as this.” I’d checked the road conditions that morning, and it said the first half was red and the second half was yellow. Indeed, a lot of road had a strip of road colored slush in the middle of road, sometimes extending over into our lane. This required quite a bit of concentration to navigate. We saw several glaciers (which are a lot more impressive in the winter surrounded by snow than the summer surrounded by dirt). You can tell they’re glaciers because there is green poking out from under the snow. I took 197 pictures. March is apparently a good time to travel on this road. We were passed by a giant pick up that thought driving 70 in the slush was too slow, and we passed a sedan (twice), and that’s all the traffic that was traveling northbound that we saw.

We got to Jasper around 5 and were tired and hungry since we hadn’t eaten that day. So we stopped at the visitor center and got some information and then drove to several motels and asked how much each was. Satisfied we’d found the cheapest in town ($112 including tax) we unpacked in a comfortable room with a king sized bed at the Maligne Lodge. Unfortunately, our room was beneath a staircase with kids yelling and running up and down it constantly. We checked reviews for places to eat in town and decided on Lou Lou’s Pizzeria (and burgers and espresso and breakfast and internet cafe) and ordered poutine and a pizza and two draught beers, which turned out to be a very palatable IPA. Our bellies full, we wondered around all of Jasper’s city centre looking for a brewery. When we found it, a Londoner, who we mistook for an Aussie (she claimed to have picked up a twang while she was down under), served us some tasty nitrogen red ale and stout and asked us lots of questions. She is “an instructor on the hill” who works a second job as a waitress. When we said we were from Colorado, she asked if that was near Tahoe.

Back in our room, we found the spots were the wireless was best (for Berck was it was perched on top of the television cabinet). By around 10:30 the kids had finally stopped running loudly up and down the stairs, and I had a good night’s sleep, except when Berck was pulling the covers off me (yes, even in a king sized bed).

We’re in Fort Nelson now, as far north as either of us has ever been in this hemisphere. We’re staying at the second cheapest motel in town and had dinner at Dan’s Neighbourhood Pub. The drive north along the Alaska Highway is astonishingly boring. So far the roads have been clear, and we haven’t seen any cops, so we’ve made very good time. We even got to see a very small herd of caribou digging through the snow on the side of the road.

We woke up this morning to more fog. There are mountains to the west as we head further north, but we can’t see them, although the sun breaks through the fog from time to time. Every tree and blade of grass is coverd in hoarfrost. Everyone in Alberta appears to drive giant pick up trucks, most of which are hauling a pair of snow mobiles riding atop a big metal plate that’s mounted on top of the bed walls. We’re currently following one that’s carrying a 4-wheeler instead. Wow! We just escaped the fog and can see the peaks!

We spent most of yesterday driving in fog, our eyes searching for the next post along the road. Eastern Montana doesn’t have many trees (big sky country), so those were our only refernece points to differentiate between the snow on the gound and the fog in the air as to where the road went. Whenever we got behind a slower moving car we were half relieved at having a much better reference point and half annoyed at being completely unable to safely pass them in the fog. Finally, we got to Great Falls, where we descended out of the fog. We stopped at an autoparts store (my car drinks nearly a quart of oil with every fuel fill-up), and my retractable ariel was caked in ice on the leading edge and would not descend into the trunk.

In Great Falls we had lunch at Bert & Ernie’s, which had Moose Drool on tap and great poutine. Poutine is Canadian comfort food that’s rather hard to find in the U.S. It’s French fries topped with gravy and cheese curds. We also split a burger that came with ham and a fried egg on it. There was apparently some confusion about whether the hostess or the waitress was supposed to get us drinks, and then the waitress apologized that she had twice as many tables as normal. It took forever for us to get the burger, and when the manager came by and asked me how the food was, I said, good, and when she asked how the service was, I said a little slow. She offered us a free beer or dessert, but I really wanted to get going, as I didn’t see how we were going to be able to get to Banff by nightfall, which had been my plan. So she said she’d take 10% off. This apparently made getting our check take even longer, and our waitress just took the beer off instead. We still tipped her 20% of the entire check, guessing on the price of the beer. I got a box and finished my half of the burger in the car.

We’re now heading straight for the jagged peaks of the Canadian Rockies on TransCanada 1, or Maple Leaf 1, as Berck calls it. Berck is amazed that Canadian drivers keep in the right lane except to pass, which makes driving so much more pleasant. “That’s it; I’m moving to Canada.” Everyone also seems to be driving exactly the speed limit.

From Great Falls we wound around more flat Montana and more fog on an incredibly empty road.

Now we’re stopped at the Banff National Park gate waiting to pay to get in. The TransCanada Highway just stops at the park gates. If you have a park pass, you can apparently bypass it in one lane, but the rest of us have to wait in line. It’s about $20. Oh! A new lane just opened up! And we’re second in line!

Finally, mountains appeared out of the mist, the back side of Glacier National Park. We were going to take a back road through a corner of the park, but it was covered in snow, so we continued on the not-quite-as-back road we were on. We eventually arrived at a very lonely customs station where a Canadian border officer asked if we had any alcohol, tobacco, firearms, firewood, or $10,000 in cash. “I wish,” said Berck. She did not seem amused. She asked us to take off our glasses while she peered at our passports, then disappeared with them for a bit, then returned them and told us to have a nice day.

The last time we tried to drive into Canada, the officers asked for proof of auto insurance, and that’s when we discovered that we had the insurance card for Berck’s mom’s car, not his. They then searched every single bit of the car and told us that as soon as we started driving, they’d call the cops and have us fined for not having insurance. We then turned around and reentered Minnesota.

When you enter Alberta by road, you’re met with a series of signs that inform you of all the things that are illegal, including importation of firewood that includes bark (to prevent the spread of Dutch elm disease). I turned off my phone, and Berck turned off roaming and data (so he can still use wifi on his phone).

We immediately noticed a difference in Canada. The roads are far wider and much better maintained. All the houses, even those in the middle of nowhere, are neat and tidy and well kept. There aren’t those piles of fallen barns in the middle of fields. And of course, the signs are all slightly different. We have fun trying to guess what the pictograms indicating what awaits travelers at each exit. In the U.S., we’d say, “GAS, LODGING” etc. But here there’s a picture of “an uncomfortable bed with a triangle above it,” as Berck says. Guess what an uncomfortable bed topped with a triangle over a slash over an egg in a soft-boiled egg holder means?

I had altered Berck’s original route to go by the mountains instead of through Calgary. Unfortunately, when we got to that road, we were greeted with A) gravel B) a sign that said the road was closed in 100 kilometers. So we had to turn around and go back the way we’d come and go up a less interesting road. But we did get to see the Frank Slide, which, as Berck said made it almost worth going out of our way for. At least we got gas, because there were no towns and no gas for a very, very long way. Provincial Highway 22 is beautifully empty (and much more interesting than the highway that goes straight up to Calgary).

It eventually led us to a town with two hotels, but there was a bigger town a little bit further up the road, so we continued on. The next town of Black Diamond also had two motels. One of them looked like it had at one time been a string of double-wide trailers but looked cheap. The other one was called the Black Diamond Hotel, which was called the Black Diamond Bar via a different door. It looked more expensive, so we went back to the cheaper looking motel, which displayed two signs that said VACANCY and one that said OPEN. We opened the office door that said OPEN to find a dark room. An old Chinese man came up behind us and asked if he could help us. We said we wanted a room, and he said that he had just let out the last one three minutes ago. I suggested he change the vacancy sign, but instead he just went into the office.

So we went to the Black Diamond Hotel. I went inside to ask how much rooms were. Inside was a gigantic bar, a kitchen, and a band playing country covers very loudly. I walked all around looking for a front desk, but finally asked a bartender if there were rooms. She said yes, but there was absolutely no smoking or pets. I went outside to report to Berck, who wasn’t convinced this was really a hotel. We decided to stay there. The bartender showed us on the menu about the rooms and then we completed the transaction and took our stuff up to a very comfortable room. Then we headed down to the bar, found the seat furthest away but still in sight of the band, and enjoyed our second dish of poutine for the day, which had excellent gravy and grated mozzarella instead of cheese curds and some meatballs with Buffalo sauce for dipping. We also tried some Traditional, which is a beer made in Calgary and liked it so much we had a few more. The band never stopped playing, though it rotated through several lead singers, most of which also played guitar. One guy sang old rock and roll songs, but the rest of it was country. Several couples did the swing energetically on the dance floor. It appeared all of Black Diamond was in this one place, enjoying a Saturday night out. We finally went back upstairs to our room, still able to hear exactly what song the band was playing from down below (they played Footloose twice, several hours apart) but fell sound asleep anyway.

We’re currently sitting on highway 12 in Montana waiting for a pilot car to lead us through a construction zone. Ah, here it comes.

On Friday, I didn’t set my alarm, but we woke up at 7:38 anyway, two minutes before my alarm normally would have gone off. Still, even though we’d packed our bags the night before, it took us nearly two hours to gather everything and pack it into the car, including the snow shoes, which are surprisingly bulky for essentially being very flat devices. We decided not to camp on this trip because we expected it to be too cold once we got to Canada and because so many campgrounds are closed this time of year anyway. As it turned out, it was a beautiful day, and the only clouds in the sky were contrails. By the time we got to Denver, it was actually hot, and we had to run the air conditioner…on the third day of spring. We ended up running it all day.

We’re finally through the construction, which lasted for miles. It appears they’re widening the road, but there really isn’t very much traffic on it at all.

We stopped at Johnson’s Corner Truck Stop for the first time for breakfast. Fortunately, they serve breakfast all day, since it was already 11:30. Berck got the breakfast burrito, of course, and I got the chicken fried steak (of course) which was really good. It felt so nice to be playing hooky from work on my birthday.

Today, on the other hand, is completely grey. In fact, we just drove through some fog, though, fortunately, it was just high enough that we could see the road but couldn’t see the blades of the turbines of the wind farm we drove through.

We apparently had a tail wind through most of Wyoming, because we had gone 200 miles and the gas gague read half full. We did some calculations and decided we could make it to Casper but if need be there was a town on the way we could stop and get gas. Unfortunately, the two was a mile off the highway, and when we got there, the only gas station we could find was now an antique store. So we drove back to the interstate. I looked at the gas gauge and decided we could easily make it the 22 miles to Casper, but it turned out all we needed was 15 miles before we got to a truck stop. We filled the tank and found we still had at least a quarter gallon. We’d been getting 32 MPG with the AC on and going 85 MPH.

Eastern Wyoming is still full of dusky green rolling hills, and it seems like each one of them had a herd of a dozen antelope on it. I amused myself by trying to take pictures of them. The wind started blowing from the west, and Berck said he wished he had steering wheel trim. I like that the entire state of Wyoming has a population less than that of Colorado Springs where we live.

We passed into Montana, and the scenery became a bit more varied. I decided to stay in Billings for the night, and Berck suggested I Priceline a hotel room. We had just enough internet connectivity through the Android for me to get a $52 a night room at a Super 8. We could have driven further, but hotel rooms aren’t just anywhere in Montana.

Unfortunately, when we got to the Super 8, the lady behind the front desk said that they were full and that she didn’t know why Priceline kept making reservations there. She unsympathetically told us we’d have to call Priceline about that. Fortunately, the Super 8 had wifi in the lobby (though I’d saved the confirmation page from Priceline, so we didn’t really need it). Berck called Priceline and told them that he wanted another hotel room in Billings for the same price. We waited on hold while the customer service representative called the lady at the front desk standing 15 feet from us. Then he read Berck a lengthy piece of legalese, to which Berck answered that he still wanted a room in Billings for the same price. He got us a room at an Econolodge not very far away. It definitely seemed like a step down but was supposedly also a 2 star motel. When Berck was checking in, the person at the front desk was telling people that they were already full, so it sounds like we might have gotten the last room. It was clean at least, so we unpacked and then drove downtown to the Montana Brewing Company, which I’d found while Berck was on the phone with Priceline.

The brewery had some of the best microbrews I’ve ever had. We tried their Amber (which they billed as a English mild style) nut brown, hefeweizen, Happy Hour (which was an English bitter ale), chocolate oatmeal stout, and Baltic porter, which we had with a giant cookie topped with ice cream. They had good cheese fries and decent pizza. They were very noisy, though, so loud that when the newborn at the table next to us started bawling, we couldn’t hear it at all.

Berck decided it was time to get up at 7:39 this morning. It’s been grey all day, so different from yesterday. We’re currently driving though fairly thick fog that keeps us from speeding. The ground is now pretty well covered with snow. When we drove through Montana during our spring break in 1998, all of Montana was snow covered, though the roads were mostly clear. The creeks and lakes are all swollen now.

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We’re now at the Black Diamond Hotel outside Calgary. I’ll write about today’s adventures tomorrow.

Finally. I’m probably going to have a pile of stuff so large when I get back that I’ll never going to get done.

I think, traditionally, college kids head to Florida for Spring Break. We’re going to Canada!

Here’s a vague outline of our route. We don’t think we’re likely to actually get that far north, but we might. If we’re in the mood, we may stay somewhere for a couple of days. We may just mostly drive and look at mountains. Because we like doing that.

Normally, on a trip like this, we’d camp. But campgrounds are likely to be closed, and it’s likely to be extraordinarily cold some of the places we’re going. So, we’re going to pretend that we’re grown-ups and stay in motels. We’ll see how that goes, or if we have any money left when we get back. I’ll worry about that along with the pile of homework/projects.

We’re hoping for some poutine, some mountains, and some snow. I’m not about to pay Verizon the insane pile of money they want to let me use my telephone up there, but I’ll try to update my latitude location whenever we’re near WiFi. If you don’t hear from us for a few days, don’t worry. We’ll be back April 1, so if you haven’t heard from us by then, go ahead and call the Mounties.

So, it’s been a good trip so far.

I was pretty nervous starting out. It doesn’t help that heading east from Colorado Springs seems the wrong way. Everyone knows what Kansas is like, what not everyone knows is that half of Colorado is just like all of Kansas.

I started with a full tank of gas and sort of figured I could make Kit Carson without stopping. After passing the sole gas station in Ellicot, CO, then a sign that said, “No Motorist Servies Next 95 Miles,” realizing that would put me somewhere around 125 miles since I’d fueled, I turned around and elected to utilize that gas station.

Ellicot is a pretty lonely place. I looked around for a bathroom, but the gas station was unattended, so I went without.

I’ve flown over it many times, but it had never seemed so far away and desolate. From the air, every place is quiet, and you can always imagine that there’s plenty of hustle and bustle on the ground. I might have imagined a bit much when it came to Ellicot.

Back on the road, I was starting to get cramped, sore, and already worried about Yoshiko, my 38-year-old steed. I was maintaining about 65mph, the speed limit, and was getting passed now and again. I was, in fact, getting passed by everyone going in the same direction I was, but fortunately there weren’t many vehicles. I don’t think it had been quite an hour, and I was already seriously questioning my wisdom. I was probably only here because a bunch of crazies from the internet told me it was a good idea, and who was I to think I could take it? My ass was sore, the vibrations were intense, and I hadn’t gone anywhere yet.

And then, in my mirror, a motorcycle. I thought it strange there’d be a Harley rider out here in the middle of nowhere–they tend to hog the interstates and clog up the more interesting roads–rarely do I see them on the boring roads that go places.

As he approached, I saw that this was no Harley rider. I moved over to the right side of my lane and he slowly passed in my lane, on the left. I first noticed the big, square, panniers, then the round BMW logo, and suddenly I realized I wasn’t the only guy headed east across the plains this morning. In fact, this was probably one of the crazies from the internet that convinced me I should be out here. I waved, and he gave me a big thumbs up. I’m not sure if he knows it, but that simple gesture raised my spirits for at least the next 100 miles. [If you were headed east on CO 94 Monday morning on a BMW from a Denver dealer, thanks for keeping me from turning around.]

The transition from Colorado to Kansas would have gone completely unnoticed if it weren’t for some relatively minor signage. I pressed on, buying fuel where I could and taking relatively long breaks at gas stations. I would have liked to stop somewhere else, but I was already spending an awfully long time time at gas stations, and even though this trip was originally conceived with no deadline in mind, circumstances change and I really needed to get to East Tennessee before the end of the week.

I stopped for the night at Cedar Bluff State Park. It took me awhile to decipher all the signs and calculate that it was going to cost $12.70 to camp in the cheapest campsite. I had a $20 bill, a $10 bill, a $1 bill, and some pennies. I’d started the trip with a zillion $1 bills, but I’d used all of them buying gas or soda. (I bought a lot of gas a gallon at a time…) I decided, screw it, and put $11 in an envelope, filled it out, and dropped it down the tube. So, I shorted them $1.70. I left them my name and address. Maybe they’ll bill me. I really do believe in paying for campsites, I just can’t believe I forgot to carry more change. Also, campsites are getting a lot more expensive these days.

I rode down to the farthest campsite, and put my foot down in sand. I had fun digging a trench back to solid ground with my rear wheel, and finding someplace where I could actually set the bike on a stand.

I went to sleep pretty quickly, but the moon woke me up. Then the owls. Then the coyotes. Then the coyotes woke up the geese. The the geese woke up the other birds. Eventually the cacophony of a wildlife cornucopia burst into life making it impossible for me to go back to sleep. Fortunately, it only took another half an hour after that for the sun to come up.

I packed everything up and took a shower. As I was coming out of the shower, what must have been the only other soul at the whole state park said, “Wow, you must be pretty brave to ride that thing all the way from Colorado.”

Folks in Kansas are friendly and kind. I’ve learned that the only people who realize I’m crazy are motorcyclists. Everyone else just thinks, “Guy riding a long way on a motorcycle.” Riders notice that it’s an old, small, motorcycle. I’m not the most sociable guy, but I’ve enjoyed the comments.

At some point, I parked in the line of fire in Iola, KS:

The wind across Kansas was simply brutal. At times, wide open throttle in 5th gear got me all of 55mph. I could downshift and do better, but that seemed brutal. Eventually, I noticed some detonation, particularly from 5,500-6,000rpm in 5th gear, either uphill or when the wind was really strong. Downshifting would stop the detonation, but 7,000-7,500rpm for extended periods seemed unkind to Yoshiko.

I used only 91 octane gasoline, which was the best I could find, but clearly that wasn’t enough. I tried a bottle of octane booster stuff from the gas station, but it didn’t do anything. So, mostly, I went faster in 5th, or slower in 4th.

The speed limit on just about every road was 65mph except in town. At 65mph, I felt a bit like a rolling roadblock. I was being passed by everything. Station wagons, dump trucks, cattle trucks, a school bus and even a damn RV.

I also got stuck in construction. For those of you who haven’t experienced it, construction on two-lane roads in Kansas is not like construction on the interstate. There aren’t some annoying barrels that mar your otherwise uniform view of the uniform view… No, my friends, this is some serious construction. (Or, should I say, “Road Works”.)

I’m not sure what’s being worked upon, or if anything’s being constructed. What I am sure of is that every so often, traffic in both directions comes to a stop. At this point, hit the kill switch, flip down the kickstand, and dismount. It’s going to be awhile….

A long while later, traffic in the other direction will flow for awhile. At this point, it’s time to mosey on back to the motorcycle. I suppose that it’s possible the side you’re on will start before the opposite side. That will only happen if you happen to be on the side I’m not:)

When you eventually get to move again, it will be at an agonizing 40mph (during which time at least no one is passing me) while everyone follows a “pilot car” through the “dangerous” non-existant “construction”.

After the pilot car pulls off, everyone takes turns passing me until we get to the next construction site, which will be placed at a distance from the previous construction zone carefully calculated to install maximum frustration.

Eventually, I saw this:

A curve! And then, right after that:

A Hill! No way! I must be getting to the end of Kansas!

Sure enough, I was, and the terrain was getting absolutely beautiful:

(from the next day, which is today:)

I spent last night at Lake Pomme de Terre State Park. I guess “Potato Lake State Park” was taken, so they had to get all creative with the name.

The campsite was very pretty and staffed with a campground host. A couple answered the door of their gargantuan semi-movable palace with playing cards in their hands. I wonder how you get to be a campground host. I’m guessing that since it seems to involve a place to park your RV for a very long time, and old people have to drive all over the damn country looking for a place to park their RV’s, that this is a very desirable gig.

They needed my drivers license. And my telephone number. I wasn’t aware that you needed to be able to drive and own a telephone in order to camp in Missouri, but it would appear that’s the case these days. Since they were nice old folks who’d kindly pulled their RV the hell off the road, I complied without too much complaint.

I was a bit confused why Yoshiko was idling was idling at 2,000rpm. At first, I started to think that something was very wrong, then remembered the elevation. I pulled out my Droid to check: sure enough, 299 feet. That’s a long way down from 6,500ft where I’d last set the carburetors. I tried to set them at the campground, but realized that was simply bad manners at best, and really obnoxious at worst, so I went to sleep.

I slept well, and the $13 campsite came with a nice hot shower. I eventually got on the road and stopped at the first gas station I came to. I got out my screwdriver, tweaked the carbs, and and then adjusted the chain which had developed a bit of slack.

I enjoyed the most of today a lot. Riding through the hills of Missouri is a truly pleasurable experience. The weather is great, and after the wind in Kansas, pretty much anything is likely to seem like paradise. I took endless twisty backroads from little town to little town.

Yoshiko developed a bit of a sputter at about 50mph. It started in Kansas, as just the slightest hesitation, but has gotten consistently worse as the miles go by. It’s gotten to where while it’s still worst at mid-throttle, 5,000rpm, it will sometimes continue for a few seconds even at full throttle. Once I get up to about 6,500 rpm it’s perfectly smooth. It only happens sometime, and sometimes I can go a hundred miles without the hesitation. It’s sort of a surging motion, feels like it’s probably firing intermittently on one side.

I think it’s probably a fuel problem, but I’m not cracking open the carburetors while it’s still running. I’m not sure I brought a spare float bowl gasket with me, and those things swell to epic proportions in no time thanks to the damn corn lobby. At some point, I decided to check the points just case. Sure enough, the right point set had developed a bit of a calcification. I stopped at a grocery store and bought an emory board, which I used to file it flat again. I set out, and while it seemed okay for the first minute, it immediately got worse, then the engine died all together.

I pulled over to the side of the road and realized that it would probably work better with the fuel petcock in the “on” position. That done, I continued as before, with the hesitation no better. The points were just a red herring.

As I got closer the Mississippi, the curves straightened out, the hills got flatter, and the trees shorter.

It’s getting late, I’ve still got 300 miles to do tomorrow, and I’m falling asleep. I’ll leave you with a teaser for what’s to come, and why I’m spending the night in Missouri… in a motel room, and not a campsite: