Three days gone, and on the way back

It has been now three days since I have written. I believe the last time I reported, I had gotten the news that the BeMWu was ready and I could pick it up in the morning. So I will pick it up from there. The day was rather radiant, and I walked over to the dealership, making it there shortly before 10 am, which is when they open. It took a bit for them to get it out, and when I asked what the problem had been, they said that water had found its way into the clutch fluid, which degraded the whole hydraulic performance of the system. This made sense, considering the symptoms. But how had this happened? According to the mechanic, the lid to the reservoir was not tight enough, and with the amount of rain I had seen the days before, water had gotten in. According to him, it was tight now, and this would not happen again. Not being one that is always satisfied with standard procedures, I proceeded to apply electrical tape to all exposed edges of the reservoir.

I went back to the hotel to pick up my things, and, once all loaded up, I was off to Anchor Point, and Homer. While the rides of the previous couple of days wowed me, the Seaward Highway blew my mind. After passing Potter Marsh, where I think Sandra would have had a field day bird watching, the road kept winding and displaying the majestic mountains that reach from the ocean to the sky, covered in ice and snow. On the left side of the highway, the snow melt produced a myriad of waterfalls, and little coves, covered in moss. I really had to work hard to keep myself from stopping every two minutes for one more shot. Especially heart warming was Beluga Point, which brought back memories of little Adelina singing Baby Beluga [in the deep blue sea] 🙂

The road to Homer Splits off at some point, and from there things pick up even more, and the Portage Glacier area starts stunning the mind.

At some point I had to stop and eat, and while there a guy I met in Fairbanks, John, also came in. We shared a meal in fellowship, and in conversation he talked to me about the issues he is having raising one of his sons, and the challenges that this represent. I was glad that my trip had been delayed due to mechanical problems on my motorcycle, and this had allowed me to offer a moment of ministry. God’s timing is all that matters. Outside the restaurant another man approached me and inquired about the 2EndSlavery sign on the bike. I spent quite a bit of time explaining modern day slavery to him, which seemed to make him more and more upset. Just before leaving he handed me a donation for the Polaris Project.

A second opportunity to help a stranger came just a few minutes after I left the restaurant, as I came across a motorbikers that seemed to have problems. I slowed down, and asked him what was going on. He said he was running out of fuel. It was hard for him to believe it since just 84 miles up the road he had bought this shiny, red, off-road Honda, and the dealer had said he had topped off the tank. Fortunately I had my jerry can with 1.2 gallons of gas on the bike so I was able to give it to him. Tim, the Honda dude, wanted to pay me for it, but he insisted on doing so. In the end, I said I would take the money for IJM. Another time in which a random meeting leads to a creative exchange.

A few miles before Anchor Point I stopped to take some more pictures of ice-capped mountains. When I was about to put my helmet back on, I turned to my right, and sitting, right there on a tree, was a blad eagle. What a moment. I had only seen another bold eagle in the wild once before, about 25 years ago, in Texas. This just took my breath away. It sat there for several minutes, so that I could take pictures, until a magpie decided it would pick a fight with the eagle. It did not take long for the eagle to declare who rules.

Anchor Point, the westernmost point in the continent reachable by road, eventually came into view. It is a rather unassuming little town, with very little to announce its honor in the road travelers world. After the mandatory pictures. I was rolling again, and soon was just North of Homer. I found a campsite which the John had recommended. As I was checking in he also arrived, and we agree to go check out the Salty Dawg, a Homer spit landmark. The spit was nothing impressing. Seemed like a large board walk by the sea, with tons of campers, travelers, and bikers. So we headed back into town for a meal, and then back to camp.

Yesterday, was some more of the amazing vistas of the previous days, as I retraced my steps back to Anchorage. This was the beginning now of the journey home. North of Anchorage though, I took the Glen Highway, and the Tok Cutoff. The Glen Highway is spectacular, with roads that must have been designed by motorbikers. Carved on the side of hills, the tarmac covered ribbon finds its way around the contours of the mountains, as it leads the rider up and down, presenting vistas that defy description. Particularly mind blowing is the glacier that comes close to the road, snaking its way down from the hills for miles on end.

The Tok cutoff became the light switch of the day. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, and what I was hoping would only be fog, turned into persistent rain. For the next two hours I rode through it, wanting often to call it the day. However, I had prayed for a dry spot to camp in, in Tok, and quitting would negate the answer to my prayers. A moose and her calf came to the road side to say hello, and I waved as I rode by. I finally made it to Tok, and indeed the rain had stopped. I was able to find a campsite to pitch my tent, and hunker down to the night. Just as it did a few years back at Heron Lake, New Mexico, the rain held off long enough, and once I was set for the night, it started again.

It seems like it rain without ceasing throughout the night, and when I woke up at 6:45 it had not stopped.

I prepared myself as best as I could, and packed up, ready for a day of riding in the rain. For the most I was comfortable, except that my gloves got soaked, and the leather was no match for the water. Even with grip warmers, my hands were freezing. I crossed into Canada two hours later, and things were pretty much the same. I did not know how I would handle a full day of this. After a couple more hours, a break in the distant sky was my first glimmer of hope. The GPS showed that I was riding in that direction. An hour later, the skies were blue, and I had a chance for an even more amazing revisit to Disaster Bay. What a misnomer. The deep blue waters of the bay are surrounded by rocky mountains, with ice melt waterfalls all over the place. What a glorious Sunday.

The AlCan between Tok and Whitehorse is probably the worst segment. The heaves are numerous and frequent. They are actually fun at speed, and I felt like I was in the sand dunes of the Dakar. An additional blessing from the sunshine and lack of rain was the fact that the two, long, multi-mile segments of loose gravel in this section were dry. I was able to navigate those without incident.

Tonight I am sitting in a campsite outside of Whitehorse. I apologize for the absence of photos, but the wifi is slow, and I am cold.

Miles completed by today 6,021 (9,690 kms)

Tomorrow: Watson Lake, and then a new road, the Cassiar Highway.