The Ultimate CC (Coast to Coast) Part I

It's two a.m. and I'm out of here. My first stop will be Orlando for a rear tire. The Keys provide a Catch 22 situation. To see anything you have to drive during the daylight hours. To avoid the 100+ mile parking lot that is U.S. 1 you have to drive at night. It was night and I could have been anywhere in the U.S. since the water wasn't visible. The only clue as to my location was the smell of the salt water and dead fish. The Moody Blues immediately came to mind:

Cold hearted orb, rules the night
Removes the color from our sight
Red is gray and yellow white
But we decide what is right, and what is an illusion.

It's impossible to make time down here since they are deadly serious about revenue collection. Most of the speed limits are in the 45 mph ranges with drops down into the 35 mph zone, especially where Key Deer are prevalent. At least I'm alone on the highway and, yes, it's raining again.

In Orlando I get a rear tire and head out into a tremendous storm. Later I would learn that 8" fell in one hour. The bike responds by dying just north of I-10 on I-75. No less than three state troopers drove by while I was working on my bike in the rain. Hopefully they were going after some speeder which would be getting their priorities straight. It had all the symptoms of water in the gas. I changed the fuel filter, thanks to the external fuel filter modification and checked the air filter. That didn't work, but as the bike sat it seemed like it wanted to start. Some electrical connection must be drying out. Finally I called Cross-Country Towing Service for help. Within one-half hour the truck was here. Since the bike seemed to be running again I had the truck follow me to his shop and poured some STP into the tank to try to dry things out and threw a spare bottle in the trunk just in case. I headed north with my fingers crossed.

My plan was to make Edmonton before I stopped for the night at a motel so I pushed through Georgia and Tennessee. The skunk must be the state animal of Kentucky since most of the time it's perfume filled the air. In a relatively odorless rest area I checked into the Iron Butt Motel for an hour's rest. If you are unfamiliar with this chain, they are everywhere you are. My motel consisted of a tankbag for a pillow.

In Rockford, IL I stopped at Kegel's Harley/BMW shop. Man, was I out of place here and was relegated to the status of ‘second class citizen' since I didn't own a Harley. At least the BMW mechanic was nice. Sorry, I don't have time to do any posing. You guys remember what it's like to ride, don't you, or are you just there to buy a Harley sticker for the rear window of your pickup?

What's with all the tolls into Wisconsin? Do I really have to wait in traffic for 15 minutes to pay a 15 cent toll? C'mon. As I entered Wisconsin I switched to another map on my Street Pilot GPS unit. This thing has been right on. Before I left, I downloaded all the routes for the trip into my unit. Since the trip was so long it had to be divided up into several sections. Switching to the second map meant I was making progress.

An hour goes by and I'm frozen. It's time to get going, but the routing is fuzzy and I'm not sure I'm going the correct way. After finding my way out of town it's time to start the long haul across the prairie on Rt. 16. They're kidding with this 100 kph business, aren't they.

Manitoba     Saskatchewan

After driving in the rain in Saskatchewan, I stop in Saskatoon for an oil change. There used to be a BMW dealer here, but they got caught up in the Canadian reorganization mess. The dealer is nice and will do the oil change for me. I find some Mobil 1 and we're in business. It's at this point that I've decided not to buy another BMW. The dealer network is too sparse. My breakdown in Florida would have required a 180+ mile tow. What was I going to do in Canada if I broke down. Up here I could spit and hit a Honda dealer. Don't get me wrong, BMWs are great motorcycles. They're just darn inconvenient.

There is a huge project underway to widen the road north of Whitecourt for 100 or so miles. They are adding two lanes mostly for the logging trucks that are feeding several of the paper mills in the area. The mills scar an otherwise pristine wilderness and it's difficult to look at a mountain stream without wondering what kind of chemicals are being pumped into it.

Valleyview and Grande Prairie, the next big town I pass, are unimpressive, but lead to the British Columbia border and Dawson Creek. This is a big, ugly town that marks the beginning of the Alaska Highway. Briefly, the AlCan, as it used to be called, was built as a means of transporting military vehicles. The attack on Pearl Harbor prompted the project with America supplying the engineers, equipment, etc. and Canada supplying the materials. Dawson Creek and Fort St. John were two of the initial airfields used in scouting the area to determine a route for the road. The project was to be completed in 8 months! To this day you'll still see construction zones that have US and Canadian contractors working on Canadian roads. The river in St. John provided the first major obstacle in road construction and the initial bridge was destroyed by ice flows. So far, I've been unimpressed with the scenery and wonder were the ‘true north' begins.

The road itself is not great with sections of gravel poured over hot tar. If this is the worst, I should be ok though. The construction zones are well marked and it's important to slow down to decide exactly what kind of construction is going on. Some sections of road are missing altogether while others are thick gravel.

He's right, but after 30 or so miles of bumping and lurching I cross a medium sized river. The roadbed is made of wood that appears to be rotting and if I tip over I'll fall off the bridge. There's no problem staying awake here, as if the road condition hasn't solved that problem already. The road improves slightly and I'm able to do the occasional 50 mph, but not for long stretches. There are big piles of droppings everywhere which can only mean that Sasquatch is nearby. Should he be in Saskatchewan?

After what seems like an eternity I cross into the Northwest Territory and elect not to continue on to Fort Liard. 100+ miles of dirt road has convinced me to take pictures and head back. In turning the bike around, the shoulder starts to give from all the rain they've been having. The front tire starts to sink into the dirt. Now I've got a problem. I can't get off the bike because I can't get the sidestand down. I've only seen 4 cars in the last 2 hours. It's starting to rain and the drop-off is 15 feet.

I use my heal to dig a hole for the sidestand and gingerly, which is amazing for a guy my size, get off the bike. In an adrenalin induced frenzy I yank the fully loaded RT out of the hole and back up on the roadbed. This could have been very bad. I head back south.

The road must have been graded in this direction because it is much smoother. I'm able to do 70 mph even when I hit that rock that dents my rim. It's good to get that out of the way. There's a native family broke down along the road. They've shredded a rear tire, but don't have the tools to remove it to put on the spare. This is unbelievable. I've got almost every tool known to man, but they live in this and don't carry anything. I must be doing something wrong. We can't loosen the lugs on the tire, but they assure me that they'll be ok and off I go. This must happen to them on a regular basis since they start to have a picnic on the side of the road. We come from different worlds and I admire them.

In Fort Nelson, a repeat stop because of fuel concerns, I call it a night. Past here are the Rockies and I'm not convinced I'll be able to get fuel in the middle of the night, regardless of what Milepost tells me.

Well, it's cloudy again, but I'm in the mountains of the rocky variety. Road construction has picked up significantly. So far 10 - 15% of the Alaska Hwy. seems to be under construction. This is a GS, not an RT kind of road. I'm pushing the RT through roads it shouldn't be on. I use the term ‘roads' jokingly. In several sections there are large dump trucks that should only be found in strip mines, moving mountains. The intent is to straighten the road out significantly from it's original snake-like appearance. In doing so, each year the Alaska Hwy. gets shorter. It must be murder keeping up with the mileage/kilometer markings. Some businesses have elected to stay with the original mile markers. Canada, since going metric, is promoting the kilometer markers. Sometimes you just don't know where the heck you are. Fortunately, there aren't a whole lot of wrong turns to make on this road.

In Stone Mountain Provincial Park I see a lot of wildlife including : Bison, wild horses, porcupine, deer, moose and Dahl Sheep. These sheep come out to the road to lick the salt off of the asphalt. They are the strangest looking four legged animals I've seen in a long time. Maybe there's too much salt in their diet. Either way, you don't want to hit one of these guys in the middle of the night and stopping in Fort Nelson last night looks like a good decision.

In a construction zone, one of the sign holders asks me to check with her friend at the other end. Since the zone is so large, her walkie-talkie won't reach that far. Apparently, one of the road crew members saw a brown bear headed to the other end of the construction zone. I blast through the zone to find the worked hold up in her pickup. It seemed silly to ask if she heard about the bear, but when I asked she responds, "You mean that one over there." Holy cow. I drove right by the thing, which I suppose is the way you want any bear encounter to go.