Canada Trip
Tostart things off...here is the route I took
(note: pics are thumbnails and clickable for a larger version if you like)
something on the order of 1040 miles. Not too shabby considering it was an family visiting event rather than a riding event. I had the daytimes free to do as I wished and the evenings were for familyactivities which generally consisted of eating and drinking.
So I set my alarm on Friday to get me up before the dogs. Way early. Hell I dont get up that early when I am paid to..so why the hell am I doing it on my own time? My boy left strict instructions to wake him and say goodbye before I leave. I went into his room to find him sobbing. "Oh shit...here we go" I think. Now I am gonna be feeling guilty for several hundred miles. I ask him what the trouble is and he says "I had a bad dream. But you have a good trip" So I comfort him a while and have a nothercuppa while he goes backto sleep.
The day is glorious if a bit chilly as I fire up the BIR and head out. As usual I got a 40 minute late start. The ride over stevens pass wasnt worth mentioning much. We have all ridden it a multitude of times. The roads were clear and the sun was bright. The tunes on the MP3 player rocked me along. In fact the whole trip to the border was uneventful. I stopped a couple times for gas and just rocked along not doing much for stopping and chatting. The Quota proved herself to be, once again, a grand touring machine. She chundered along without complaint at whatever speed I cared to ask for. The engine room was smooth and efficient. I didnt even see one cop. I fact the whole trip was free of police interraction. I saw 2 RCMPs. One with a customer and the other was my own cousin and she was as loaded as I was.
In fact this was the only picture I took on the first day. Gas Stop at the 2/97 junction
So day one ended with a stop at my grandmother's columbarium site where her ashes now rest next to my grandfather's ashes. I had just missed the internment event by a few minutes as my mom and cousins spotted me as the headed in the other direction. They pulled up and we all greeted eachother in the graveyard.
From there to my Uncle's house is another 40 miles or so along Lake Ogopogo. It was a pleasant ride until we hit the last set of hills before Vernon. Then a local HD rider blew past me. Testosterone poisoning engaged my glands and I gave chase. I didnt pass him as I felt that would be unwise on unfamiliar ground trafficked by RCMP. But he kept pouring on the coal and everytime he looked in his mirror, there was the bright red Quota and me waving. I must admit, he hustled the HD along in the sweepers pretty good. When we pulled up at the light he greeted me with a happy smile. His bike was rigged far better for handling than most with stock length forks and drag bars better suited for the sweepers than apes n' a rake.
The evening finished with a table groaning with food and drink at my Uncle's house. We laughed ourselves sick with funny memories.
The next morning I got up and noted that planed events were in the evening. I wanted to bring home a little souvenier for Max so I tookoff and wandered to find some cheesy canadian knick-knack. I wandered downtown Vernon for a while, but te tourist season hasnt swung up and the joint was roasting hot. I had dressed for cool spring weather and it was 70 degrees by 10AM. So I bagged that plan
I headed for a spot caled "Magnetic hill" onthe tourist map my Uncle proveded me. It's one of those places where cars are supposed to roll "uphill" and is really an optical illusion. Didnt work for me. But I was sitting at the bottom of a ridge and the road ahead went up. So I explored. I got nearly to the top before discression took hold and I decided that busting an ankle way up there on a dirt trail would really screw up my family's plans. And it was close to time to be back and clean up for dinner.
That night we had dinner at the assisted living condo place that my grandma lived in for the last few years. They have a big cafeteria style kitchen and a nice dining room. My grandmother had purchased a bunch of meal tickets and they wouldnt exchange them. So with typical German frugality, we used them and had a grand meal and a grand time.
So not a lot of riding yet. But it will happen.
Day three involved a more interesting events from a riding perspective. Since the calendar once again didnt have any items until the evening, I opted to rise with the loons and head out for a day ride. I had wanted to do a section of highway suggested by Derek Hamlet.
Now one thing I really appreciated about my family is that they had not ne issue with me taking off. Some folks might have an issue with a rider taking off from a family gathering to go ride a bunch of miles and be gone all day. Not my fam. When I metnioned I wanted to do that, my uncle and my cousins were all over me with maps and route suggestions. Hell my uncle suggested that I head out, stop at their cabin in Nakusp, fil the hot tub with hotsprings water and have it ready for them when they all arrived. But that would have erased the evening schedule so it was dropped.
So I was up at dawn and on the road by 7:30 heading east on highway 6 toward Needles. This is a lovely road. Winding mountain pass roads that I had largely to myself all the way to the ferry at Needles.
The morning was glorious as I headed through the farm country east of Vernon
In some cultures there is a fear of perfection. Every item made has some small flaw purposely left in the item. If I recall, it is to give the demons a place to get out or something. I too fear pefection. There has to be some flaw in a road trip before I can relax completely. Unexpected weather, roadside repair, speeding ticket...something has to happen or I feel like the odds are stacking up against me.
About 20 minutes after I stopped for the aove picture, it finally happened. I came up on some slower traffic. As we rounded a corner, I got to a nice long passing zone that let me pass the two trucks with trailers ahead of me. I swung out and wrung the Quota's go handle. Just as I swing out, I feel something hit my knee. I figured it for a rock or something and completed the pass. As I motored on, I checked my tankbag and such to make sure I didnt leave it unzipped and lose something. Nope, zippers tight. No bird carcass on my knee. Then I checked my gps to see what was going on.
oops. no gps.
Shit.
Apparently my gps decided the pass was unsafe and abandoned ship, which was what hit my knee.
Cursing myself for not securing it properly and using a safety leash I returned to the pass spot.
It sook me about half an hour of very careful searching in the ditch. In fact I wouldnt have found it if I hadnt literaly stepped on it.
Ever wondered what the antenna in a Garmin V looked like?
Despite the 60mph bailout the damned thing still worked! The reception was spotty and eventually failed almost completely. But it appears to only need a new antenna.
Let's see...where was I? Oh right. I had just stress tested the GPS.
Once I found it again and put it back in it's spot of repose..securely, this time...I motored on. Only now I had had my disastrous event. The flaw-demons were now appeased and I could wander without distracting worry.
Highway 6 climbs up and over a pass in a windy, frost broken pavent fashion. This is where a big dual sport like the Quota is at home;being thrashed about like a sportbike with longer suspension. At the higher elevations, spring has yet to spring completely and the empty ditches made for spectacular views and long shtsh through corners allowing for more hooliganism. The road was nearly empty of traffic and bucketloads of fun. Highly recommended.
I stoped for a moment near the upper elevation to take a break. What a glorious morning!
In the 10 minutes I stopped here, both cars that passed me by stopped to ask if I needed help. I dont recallever having that happen on WA2 or WA20
AFter the long blast down the far side I arrived at the ferry to Needles. A small, free cable operated unit. None of that "Bikes first on first off" stuff as they have here though. Cool thing though. A big diesel motor pulls the cable sort of like a man climbing hand overhand. The approaches to this and the other ferry I tookare quite rough compared to the ones I have encountered in the Puget Sound. I bet more than one noob on a croozer has ended up on his ass.
It really was a glorious morning
Just of the ferry Istopped here for gas. I am assured that the food is tremendous, but I was on a roll and I had a lot of miles to cover yet to make the loop I was working on.
I mention this place because the proprietor was an exemplary example of the folks I encountered. Roger was a big friendly fellow, prone to smiles and lots of words. He proudly pointed out how this was a major stop for a bunch of rides and that bikes make up a lot of his sumer biz, I was a very early seasonal customer though. I also proudly noted that Jay Leno and some sports guys I dont remember do pass trough often on rides. Then he was joined by another local and as Roger cleaned the bugs off my windscreen (there were a lot and mostly very ancient bug-mummies from last year. Sorry Roger) they both had a lot of questins about the Guzzi and a lot of advice for fun logging roads to take. Unfortunately my schedule didnt allow for it. Nevertheless Roger struck me as a fellow who had found a very happy place in the world to be. Something many folks would find envious.
As I left, I stopped in to buy a cuppa joe and I said to Roger "I dont know what the tipping custom is here, but thank you for the service and conversation" and I put all the loonies and toonies I found in my pocket in his hand. Roger then smiles and says "All the tips I get, go striaght into a jar for the Canadian Cancer fund for Children"
I salute you Roger. I shoulda snapped a pic of you. But the stopover will have to do.
I left Needles and headed north to Nakusp and beyond to my next ferry. This road is practically nebraska flat after the run up n over on 6, so I made good time. The whole route is littered with hotsprings. It would be a great fall or spring ride out from Vernon to overnight at the springs, lemme tell you. Along this route I incountered wild animals.
I came around a corner and suddenly I was besieged by a flock of frightened birds. Quail, I think. Al I know is one moment it is sunny and I am tooling along at 65, the next moment I am in a pillow fight in a chicken coop. Then just as suddenly it was over and I was back to tooling at 60. I dont know how I managed to not colect a squab or two in the process. I guess the disaster-demons protected me.
Then not 5 miles down the road, I see a BIG fuckng deer hauling ass up the hill away from the road. Knowing the Rule of Deer (it aint the one you see that gets you, its the rest of the tribe still hiding in the bushes) I droped anchor and shed MPH quickly indeed. I realized later that it may have been a young or female elk that I saw. I dunno.
The final shot was over ont he other side from the ferry. It takes 20 minutes or so to cross. I just hung out and enjoyed the sunshine. Then everyone starts crowding the side and going "oooh" and I hear the click beep of several digital cameras. I peek over to see what was up.
We were approaching the far dock and there was about half a dozen deer on the beach. While the crowd was ooh-ing I was muttering "Fuck. Fuck.Fucking deer"
Thankfully the road from the ferry went *away* from the last spot I saw the bambi gang. But that didnt mean a thing. Plenty more where they came from. Sure enough, not 10 miles down the road I come around a bend to find one crossing the road, a second hesitating and a third just nosing out of the bushes. Once again I test my brakes most thoroughly. And just like fucking deer...the one on the road doubles back. The one on the far side decides he dont want to be left alone and heads back across the road...but I was too close and so he decides to race ahead of me and then cross from my right to my left. The deisater-demons watched out for me again (as well as the blessed holy mother, Saint Brembo) and even though bambi crossed my front close enough for me to count the wrinkles on his bunghole, I didnt get hit or hit him.
Despite the adrenaline surges, this was some of the most gorgeous country I have ever had the pleasure of passing through. The whole day was like stringing both norther cascade highways together and tacking on a bit of 410 to boot. awesome.
From there it was more of that ho-hum canadian beauty. Up to Revelstoke and then a blast down the valley back to Vernon.
I got back early enough to go down to the airport to check out my Uncles planes. He's a retired NWT etrpreneur: Bush Pilot, Guide, Trading Post Operator, Trapper, etc etc etc. Now he does some part time guiding and plays with airplanes. His latest thing is these Seawind boatplanes. I guess the company went out of business and he buys the planes, fixes them and then sells them. This here is the prototype that he is currently selling. The next version is being rebuilt in the other part of the hangar. He wants me to come help when I visit in a few weeks to pick up the furniture I got from my gramma. The second version is a lot nicer. Sorry the shots aint great. it was a little crowded in the hangar.
As we got ready to leave, this honey arrived and landed. Lordy that rotary motor sounds soooooo sexy. My uncle pointed out that you cant get parts for them. "You gotta wreck one to fly one" says he. he also noted that the pilot must've been pretty tall. shorter pilots have to weave down the taxiway to see where they are going because the cowling is right in the way.
We got back to the house and partied down as my family is wont to do. We drank and ate hearty lemme tell you. The table was packed with goodies that my grandmother used to make. Rollada, Red Cabbage, buttercreme torte. taters.
As you can see, I got a bit of a drunk on
Kids, the lesson here is to not get drunk and operate a camera. Only I could manage to fuckup a picture taken with an autofocusing digital camera.
On monday I had to return home. It didnt bode well from the get go. I had figured on getting out the dor by 7 AM, take the short route home to the west and be back in time for Momma to go to work. The disaster Demons were overwhelmed and not one of those plans worked out.
My hangover had me sleeping in until 7. I didnt get out the door until 8:30 ish (but I did get a good breffast...everyone was up to see me off and well the eggs were just sitting there...)
The weather promised, cool and cloudy with a 60% chance of rain showers. HA!
HA! I say.
I headed south towardPenticton to take 97C over the pass to the west. First major one to the south of Kelowna. Now my mistake was not giving the weather a final check before heading up the pass. As I climbed, it got colder. And Colder....and Co-o-o-o-older. The lakes lect to the highway were still frozen over...and then.....it started to snow. Just a little at first...and no convenient turn arounds (deep sand ditches in the median) and I knew momma would be pissed if I didnt make it back in time...so I pressed on. And the snow got heavier.
The pic doesnt show it good but it was coming down pretty heavy and with the trucker traffic and only 2 lanes on my side, I had to move along at a minimum of 55 if I didnt want to get run over. I was more worried about the road icing up or the snow accumulating. After I took the pic, it got so heavy I had a hard time seeing well. I briefly considered abandoning the bike and hitching a ride with a trucker down the hill. But the snow let up some, then it came and went all the way to the next town.
In that town I had a decision to make. Where I was it was raining like hell. Ice cold rain. But it wasnt snow. I chatted up a local who just came up 5 from Hope which had been my planned route. He said it was snowing like hell o the toll gate then it rained like hell all the way to Hope. According to my map (GPS was an expensive clock by this time) the toll booth was at the other end of 115k. I had just done close to 100k in snow and rain.
Damn.
So around the horn on 8 it was to be. Now let me tell you...under any other circumstances 8 is a glorious road. Norther California canyon lands it reminded me of. Except for the rain, of course. A chilled 60k later I got to the junction with 1 that heads down an ominously named region called Hell's Canyon to Hope. by now it was obvious I wasnt gonna make it home in time. So I called home. Or tried to. No cell reception. dammit. So I made a 5 buck landline call home and put the word in. Momma not happy. But at least pleased I was safe.
The ride from there to Hope down that canyon was once again....some of the most beautiful country I have ridden through. But for the circumstances that is. It was raining like hell. the limit was 60mph and the trucks kept you going that or better...or else. and like any canyon highway it is not much more than a paved goat track. I will say though that Canada is very smart about putting in lots of passing zones. This let me get past slower traffic or to let the high ball truckers get past me while I was busy trying to keep my bunghole from sucking fabric off the seat.
Fortunately it dried out in Hope and I was able to change into some dry socks. I also found a little store that had the perfect Maxgift. Remember the night mare he had the morning I left? I found him a cool dream catcher to hang over his bed.
The remainder of the trip home was uneventful. Just beating down the miles and praying for no more disaster demon fuckups. What should hve been a 5 hour blitz for home was 12 because of warm up stops, construction delays, detours and so forth.
Definitely a trip to remember.
(note: pics are thumbnails and clickable for a larger version if you like)
something on the order of 1040 miles. Not too shabby considering it was an family visiting event rather than a riding event. I had the daytimes free to do as I wished and the evenings were for familyactivities which generally consisted of eating and drinking.
So I set my alarm on Friday to get me up before the dogs. Way early. Hell I dont get up that early when I am paid to..so why the hell am I doing it on my own time? My boy left strict instructions to wake him and say goodbye before I leave. I went into his room to find him sobbing. "Oh shit...here we go" I think. Now I am gonna be feeling guilty for several hundred miles. I ask him what the trouble is and he says "I had a bad dream. But you have a good trip" So I comfort him a while and have a nothercuppa while he goes backto sleep.
The day is glorious if a bit chilly as I fire up the BIR and head out. As usual I got a 40 minute late start. The ride over stevens pass wasnt worth mentioning much. We have all ridden it a multitude of times. The roads were clear and the sun was bright. The tunes on the MP3 player rocked me along. In fact the whole trip to the border was uneventful. I stopped a couple times for gas and just rocked along not doing much for stopping and chatting. The Quota proved herself to be, once again, a grand touring machine. She chundered along without complaint at whatever speed I cared to ask for. The engine room was smooth and efficient. I didnt even see one cop. I fact the whole trip was free of police interraction. I saw 2 RCMPs. One with a customer and the other was my own cousin and she was as loaded as I was.
In fact this was the only picture I took on the first day. Gas Stop at the 2/97 junction
So day one ended with a stop at my grandmother's columbarium site where her ashes now rest next to my grandfather's ashes. I had just missed the internment event by a few minutes as my mom and cousins spotted me as the headed in the other direction. They pulled up and we all greeted eachother in the graveyard.
From there to my Uncle's house is another 40 miles or so along Lake Ogopogo. It was a pleasant ride until we hit the last set of hills before Vernon. Then a local HD rider blew past me. Testosterone poisoning engaged my glands and I gave chase. I didnt pass him as I felt that would be unwise on unfamiliar ground trafficked by RCMP. But he kept pouring on the coal and everytime he looked in his mirror, there was the bright red Quota and me waving. I must admit, he hustled the HD along in the sweepers pretty good. When we pulled up at the light he greeted me with a happy smile. His bike was rigged far better for handling than most with stock length forks and drag bars better suited for the sweepers than apes n' a rake.
The evening finished with a table groaning with food and drink at my Uncle's house. We laughed ourselves sick with funny memories.
The next morning I got up and noted that planed events were in the evening. I wanted to bring home a little souvenier for Max so I tookoff and wandered to find some cheesy canadian knick-knack. I wandered downtown Vernon for a while, but te tourist season hasnt swung up and the joint was roasting hot. I had dressed for cool spring weather and it was 70 degrees by 10AM. So I bagged that plan
I headed for a spot caled "Magnetic hill" onthe tourist map my Uncle proveded me. It's one of those places where cars are supposed to roll "uphill" and is really an optical illusion. Didnt work for me. But I was sitting at the bottom of a ridge and the road ahead went up. So I explored. I got nearly to the top before discression took hold and I decided that busting an ankle way up there on a dirt trail would really screw up my family's plans. And it was close to time to be back and clean up for dinner.
That night we had dinner at the assisted living condo place that my grandma lived in for the last few years. They have a big cafeteria style kitchen and a nice dining room. My grandmother had purchased a bunch of meal tickets and they wouldnt exchange them. So with typical German frugality, we used them and had a grand meal and a grand time.
So not a lot of riding yet. But it will happen.
Day three involved a more interesting events from a riding perspective. Since the calendar once again didnt have any items until the evening, I opted to rise with the loons and head out for a day ride. I had wanted to do a section of highway suggested by Derek Hamlet.
Now one thing I really appreciated about my family is that they had not ne issue with me taking off. Some folks might have an issue with a rider taking off from a family gathering to go ride a bunch of miles and be gone all day. Not my fam. When I metnioned I wanted to do that, my uncle and my cousins were all over me with maps and route suggestions. Hell my uncle suggested that I head out, stop at their cabin in Nakusp, fil the hot tub with hotsprings water and have it ready for them when they all arrived. But that would have erased the evening schedule so it was dropped.
So I was up at dawn and on the road by 7:30 heading east on highway 6 toward Needles. This is a lovely road. Winding mountain pass roads that I had largely to myself all the way to the ferry at Needles.
The morning was glorious as I headed through the farm country east of Vernon
In some cultures there is a fear of perfection. Every item made has some small flaw purposely left in the item. If I recall, it is to give the demons a place to get out or something. I too fear pefection. There has to be some flaw in a road trip before I can relax completely. Unexpected weather, roadside repair, speeding ticket...something has to happen or I feel like the odds are stacking up against me.
About 20 minutes after I stopped for the aove picture, it finally happened. I came up on some slower traffic. As we rounded a corner, I got to a nice long passing zone that let me pass the two trucks with trailers ahead of me. I swung out and wrung the Quota's go handle. Just as I swing out, I feel something hit my knee. I figured it for a rock or something and completed the pass. As I motored on, I checked my tankbag and such to make sure I didnt leave it unzipped and lose something. Nope, zippers tight. No bird carcass on my knee. Then I checked my gps to see what was going on.
oops. no gps.
Shit.
Apparently my gps decided the pass was unsafe and abandoned ship, which was what hit my knee.
Cursing myself for not securing it properly and using a safety leash I returned to the pass spot.
It sook me about half an hour of very careful searching in the ditch. In fact I wouldnt have found it if I hadnt literaly stepped on it.
Ever wondered what the antenna in a Garmin V looked like?
Despite the 60mph bailout the damned thing still worked! The reception was spotty and eventually failed almost completely. But it appears to only need a new antenna.
Let's see...where was I? Oh right. I had just stress tested the GPS.
Once I found it again and put it back in it's spot of repose..securely, this time...I motored on. Only now I had had my disastrous event. The flaw-demons were now appeased and I could wander without distracting worry.
Highway 6 climbs up and over a pass in a windy, frost broken pavent fashion. This is where a big dual sport like the Quota is at home;being thrashed about like a sportbike with longer suspension. At the higher elevations, spring has yet to spring completely and the empty ditches made for spectacular views and long shtsh through corners allowing for more hooliganism. The road was nearly empty of traffic and bucketloads of fun. Highly recommended.
I stoped for a moment near the upper elevation to take a break. What a glorious morning!
In the 10 minutes I stopped here, both cars that passed me by stopped to ask if I needed help. I dont recallever having that happen on WA2 or WA20
AFter the long blast down the far side I arrived at the ferry to Needles. A small, free cable operated unit. None of that "Bikes first on first off" stuff as they have here though. Cool thing though. A big diesel motor pulls the cable sort of like a man climbing hand overhand. The approaches to this and the other ferry I tookare quite rough compared to the ones I have encountered in the Puget Sound. I bet more than one noob on a croozer has ended up on his ass.
It really was a glorious morning
Just of the ferry Istopped here for gas. I am assured that the food is tremendous, but I was on a roll and I had a lot of miles to cover yet to make the loop I was working on.
I mention this place because the proprietor was an exemplary example of the folks I encountered. Roger was a big friendly fellow, prone to smiles and lots of words. He proudly pointed out how this was a major stop for a bunch of rides and that bikes make up a lot of his sumer biz, I was a very early seasonal customer though. I also proudly noted that Jay Leno and some sports guys I dont remember do pass trough often on rides. Then he was joined by another local and as Roger cleaned the bugs off my windscreen (there were a lot and mostly very ancient bug-mummies from last year. Sorry Roger) they both had a lot of questins about the Guzzi and a lot of advice for fun logging roads to take. Unfortunately my schedule didnt allow for it. Nevertheless Roger struck me as a fellow who had found a very happy place in the world to be. Something many folks would find envious.
As I left, I stopped in to buy a cuppa joe and I said to Roger "I dont know what the tipping custom is here, but thank you for the service and conversation" and I put all the loonies and toonies I found in my pocket in his hand. Roger then smiles and says "All the tips I get, go striaght into a jar for the Canadian Cancer fund for Children"
I salute you Roger. I shoulda snapped a pic of you. But the stopover will have to do.
I left Needles and headed north to Nakusp and beyond to my next ferry. This road is practically nebraska flat after the run up n over on 6, so I made good time. The whole route is littered with hotsprings. It would be a great fall or spring ride out from Vernon to overnight at the springs, lemme tell you. Along this route I incountered wild animals.
I came around a corner and suddenly I was besieged by a flock of frightened birds. Quail, I think. Al I know is one moment it is sunny and I am tooling along at 65, the next moment I am in a pillow fight in a chicken coop. Then just as suddenly it was over and I was back to tooling at 60. I dont know how I managed to not colect a squab or two in the process. I guess the disaster-demons protected me.
Then not 5 miles down the road, I see a BIG fuckng deer hauling ass up the hill away from the road. Knowing the Rule of Deer (it aint the one you see that gets you, its the rest of the tribe still hiding in the bushes) I droped anchor and shed MPH quickly indeed. I realized later that it may have been a young or female elk that I saw. I dunno.
The final shot was over ont he other side from the ferry. It takes 20 minutes or so to cross. I just hung out and enjoyed the sunshine. Then everyone starts crowding the side and going "oooh" and I hear the click beep of several digital cameras. I peek over to see what was up.
We were approaching the far dock and there was about half a dozen deer on the beach. While the crowd was ooh-ing I was muttering "Fuck. Fuck.Fucking deer"
Thankfully the road from the ferry went *away* from the last spot I saw the bambi gang. But that didnt mean a thing. Plenty more where they came from. Sure enough, not 10 miles down the road I come around a bend to find one crossing the road, a second hesitating and a third just nosing out of the bushes. Once again I test my brakes most thoroughly. And just like fucking deer...the one on the road doubles back. The one on the far side decides he dont want to be left alone and heads back across the road...but I was too close and so he decides to race ahead of me and then cross from my right to my left. The deisater-demons watched out for me again (as well as the blessed holy mother, Saint Brembo) and even though bambi crossed my front close enough for me to count the wrinkles on his bunghole, I didnt get hit or hit him.
Despite the adrenaline surges, this was some of the most gorgeous country I have ever had the pleasure of passing through. The whole day was like stringing both norther cascade highways together and tacking on a bit of 410 to boot. awesome.
From there it was more of that ho-hum canadian beauty. Up to Revelstoke and then a blast down the valley back to Vernon.
I got back early enough to go down to the airport to check out my Uncles planes. He's a retired NWT etrpreneur: Bush Pilot, Guide, Trading Post Operator, Trapper, etc etc etc. Now he does some part time guiding and plays with airplanes. His latest thing is these Seawind boatplanes. I guess the company went out of business and he buys the planes, fixes them and then sells them. This here is the prototype that he is currently selling. The next version is being rebuilt in the other part of the hangar. He wants me to come help when I visit in a few weeks to pick up the furniture I got from my gramma. The second version is a lot nicer. Sorry the shots aint great. it was a little crowded in the hangar.
As we got ready to leave, this honey arrived and landed. Lordy that rotary motor sounds soooooo sexy. My uncle pointed out that you cant get parts for them. "You gotta wreck one to fly one" says he. he also noted that the pilot must've been pretty tall. shorter pilots have to weave down the taxiway to see where they are going because the cowling is right in the way.
We got back to the house and partied down as my family is wont to do. We drank and ate hearty lemme tell you. The table was packed with goodies that my grandmother used to make. Rollada, Red Cabbage, buttercreme torte. taters.
As you can see, I got a bit of a drunk on
Kids, the lesson here is to not get drunk and operate a camera. Only I could manage to fuckup a picture taken with an autofocusing digital camera.
On monday I had to return home. It didnt bode well from the get go. I had figured on getting out the dor by 7 AM, take the short route home to the west and be back in time for Momma to go to work. The disaster Demons were overwhelmed and not one of those plans worked out.
My hangover had me sleeping in until 7. I didnt get out the door until 8:30 ish (but I did get a good breffast...everyone was up to see me off and well the eggs were just sitting there...)
The weather promised, cool and cloudy with a 60% chance of rain showers. HA!
HA! I say.
I headed south towardPenticton to take 97C over the pass to the west. First major one to the south of Kelowna. Now my mistake was not giving the weather a final check before heading up the pass. As I climbed, it got colder. And Colder....and Co-o-o-o-older. The lakes lect to the highway were still frozen over...and then.....it started to snow. Just a little at first...and no convenient turn arounds (deep sand ditches in the median) and I knew momma would be pissed if I didnt make it back in time...so I pressed on. And the snow got heavier.
The pic doesnt show it good but it was coming down pretty heavy and with the trucker traffic and only 2 lanes on my side, I had to move along at a minimum of 55 if I didnt want to get run over. I was more worried about the road icing up or the snow accumulating. After I took the pic, it got so heavy I had a hard time seeing well. I briefly considered abandoning the bike and hitching a ride with a trucker down the hill. But the snow let up some, then it came and went all the way to the next town.
In that town I had a decision to make. Where I was it was raining like hell. Ice cold rain. But it wasnt snow. I chatted up a local who just came up 5 from Hope which had been my planned route. He said it was snowing like hell o the toll gate then it rained like hell all the way to Hope. According to my map (GPS was an expensive clock by this time) the toll booth was at the other end of 115k. I had just done close to 100k in snow and rain.
Damn.
So around the horn on 8 it was to be. Now let me tell you...under any other circumstances 8 is a glorious road. Norther California canyon lands it reminded me of. Except for the rain, of course. A chilled 60k later I got to the junction with 1 that heads down an ominously named region called Hell's Canyon to Hope. by now it was obvious I wasnt gonna make it home in time. So I called home. Or tried to. No cell reception. dammit. So I made a 5 buck landline call home and put the word in. Momma not happy. But at least pleased I was safe.
The ride from there to Hope down that canyon was once again....some of the most beautiful country I have ridden through. But for the circumstances that is. It was raining like hell. the limit was 60mph and the trucks kept you going that or better...or else. and like any canyon highway it is not much more than a paved goat track. I will say though that Canada is very smart about putting in lots of passing zones. This let me get past slower traffic or to let the high ball truckers get past me while I was busy trying to keep my bunghole from sucking fabric off the seat.
Fortunately it dried out in Hope and I was able to change into some dry socks. I also found a little store that had the perfect Maxgift. Remember the night mare he had the morning I left? I found him a cool dream catcher to hang over his bed.
The remainder of the trip home was uneventful. Just beating down the miles and praying for no more disaster demon fuckups. What should hve been a 5 hour blitz for home was 12 because of warm up stops, construction delays, detours and so forth.
Definitely a trip to remember.
posted by Z at
5:55 PM
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