Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Slept like a log and woke from a deep dream involving some sort of birthday party, a pile of cakes in boxes and a broken cat bowl (make of that what you will, Dr Freud!), in a blind panic at 6.25am when we have to be assembled for breakfast with bikes loaded at 6.50... So quickly showered and packed (I'd left everything out last night as I intended getting up early and sorting the blog), and was on time for the roll round the corner to the Prince Edward Hotel where we were due to have breakfast. This was rather than try and get everyone fed quickly in the toaster museum, where there was only one poor young chap trying to take all the orders, cook the food and serve it. It turned out to be the best breakfast of the trip by far, the “Campfire Special” with fresh eggs (over easy), sausages and baked beans. I also asked for a jug of ice cold water, and while the waitress was not looking filled up my camelbak – then to her surprise, asked for another (“I'm really thirsty”).

By the time I'd eaten most of the group had already left, the table I shared with Nigel, Andrew and Jeff being the last to get served. Nigel pulled out whilst I was still getting ready, so I set off in hot pursuit, with 430 miles in which to catch him. The roads here lend themselves to cruising at 80-85mph, with sweeping curves and constant undulations to keep the boredom at bay. With the MP3 player on again (first time since Fairbanks) and set to random (one minute Black Sabbath, the next Thea Gilmore...), I settled in for a long day in the saddle.

Just before Meziadin Junction, where we would turn onto Highway 37, I saw a wolf wandering down the road. At first I thought it was a dog, but as I got closer I could tell it wasn't, it's long snout and staring eyes, coupled with the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere, giving the game away. Cool. Then, within 10 miles of turning onto Highway 37 I had to hit the brakes fairly hard, as a mother bear and her 2 cubs emerged from the bushes on the left and sauntered across the road in front of me. I hit the “record” button on my bike-cam as quickly as I could, but not only was I too late to catch the bears, the lens was filthy from yesterday's ride on the gravel road to fish creek...

Even after 130 miles of fairly progressive riding, there was no sight of Nigel or the others. I reasoned that with such a long ride, they were all pressing on, and so I dropped my pace a little to conserve fuel (the warning light had come on some time ago, and the first gas station was at 137 miles). At Kitwanga, I pulled into the village to take a look at the Totem Poles, and caught up with a few of the others who were there taking pictures (no sign of Nigel, though, he was really pressing on).





From Kitwanga, we refuelled then turned off the Stewart-Cassiar Highway (H37, a road that easily makes it into my top-10 all-time best biking roads) and onto Highway 16 towards Prince George. It was around now that I noticed a change in both the traffic density (now there were other vehicles on the road, I'd hardly seen any on H37) and scenery. The landscape changed from forest to woods, with fields interspersed here and there, small settlements of wooden houses surrounded by the inevitable graveyards of rusting cars (they seem to be everywhere, as though when the cars break down, they're just left where they stop to rot). The fields were full of large rolls of hay, drying in the sunshine. Gradually the landscape changed again, as the houses became more cared-for, the rusting cars disappeared and made way for shiny new ones, and the area started to look significantly more affluent. I caught a glimpse of a group of riders parked up and stopped to see what was going on – they were watching some guys down by the fast-moving river fishing with huge nets, hauling great big fish out seemingly at will.

With time pressing on, I hit the road again, riding for another hour or so before stopping to eat lunch (an apple and fruit bar collected from the van that morning). No sooner had I stopped than the “minor celebrity status” thing kicked in... Whenever we've stopped, anywhere, from Anchorage to here, someone has come up and started to talk to us about where we're from, where we're heading and then looked aghast when we've told them. It seems it's impossible to travel by motorcycle without making contact (I noticed it was just the bikers that got this treatment, a young woman obviously travelling and alone was parked in a van next to me, got out and took her lunch to the picnic table, and no-one spoke to her at all). The guy that engaged me in conversation had a son that rides a bike and that was reason enough for him to speak to me, and we chatted for a while whilst I ate my lunch, and then we parted company and carried on with our journeys. I'm going to miss this “minor celebrity status” thing when we get to Mexico and from them on can't speak the language so will be unable to chat with complete strangers...

With the traffic now getting denser (think one car or lorry every mile or so...) I got plenty of over-taking practice, especially as I was stopping fairly frequently to chill out, the back of the journey broken by lunchtime. At one rest stop, I managed to get a photo of the “rich man's RV” (by the way, RV stands for Recreational Vehicle, in case you didn't know).... this one is not the biggest I've seen, but like so many is towing the 4x4 behind it... and yes, that's a large Toyota Landcruiser...





One such rest stop was by a river and there was a plaque on a cairn commemorating the anniversary of the naming of the place in 1913. It was called “Tinagel” after the town of the same name in Cornwall (England), and the centre stone of the cairn was once part of the Norman walls of Tintagel, Cornwall, the alleged birthplace of King Arthur. Strange how this was placed in a small lay-by by the side of the highway...

Finally I arrived at the outskirts of Prince George, where I spied a Wal*Mart – and so went on the hunt for a beard trimmer. And found one, so now I have no excuse for looking like grizzly adams. Then I found the Sandman Hotel and checked in, choosing the best bed as I'd arrived before Jim, showered and went in search of beer. Which I found at Moxie's, a bar just a block away, where all the waitresses were models in little black dresses which highlighted their long legs. Sat around a high table with most of the group, it was like watching tennis as heads turned this was and that, soaking up the “eye candy”. It was strange being back in a city again... As it was Al's birthday, we naturally had to celebrate, and so we did. We also ate, I opted for the spicy prawn noodles which were delicious, but mostly we drank beer. Rather a lot of it. We also bought Al a special birthday drink, called a “Mexican Bulldog” although none of us have ever seen a bulldog in Mexico. Al seemed to enjoy it, though (not he was still wearing his birthday hat)...





Eventually we left the bar and staggered back to the hotel and our beds, the end of the first long riding day over with...