So, sometime during the last big frost, I decide what me an the scooter need is a little ridin in weather actually fit for humans. Sturgis seemed like a decent enough excuse so I get the time off work, take a look at the weather, load the tent and bag into the rucksack, fill the saddlebags with tools, warm shit for Canadia, some beer, 2 cans of chew, and some beer.
We hit the road @ 4 in the am and head for lunch in Tok, AK. About 320 miles. Rains off and on the whole friggin way. But that's ok, good weather's waitin' for us down south. So now we're headed out of Tok at 1ish or so and here's a sign sayin "road construction- next 46 miles" Yeah, so we ain't makin time any more. So there I am EXACTLY 6 miles out of Tok, before the Methuselean road construction, steady at 55, straight and level, when all of a sudden I hear the rpm's climb about 150 while ol wilbur tries to swap ends on me. So now I'm lettin off the throttle while givin him a little body english with my right butt cheek, and just as I get im in line again, we're back on solid ground again. So we pull off at the next wide spot and I pop the top on a can of some heart medication, get the ticker down from redline and ask myself JUST WTF WAS THAT! I have no idea what was on the road, but it set the tone for the afternoon.
Not long after that happy little distraction we hit the resurfacing project between Tok and the border. Now I know the logistics make my theory improbable at best but I'll be damned if they didn't import red Georgia clay for the roadbed. It may not have come from Georgia, but it was red, wet, and greasy. Every friggin hill that ass end was washin out no matter how I tried to get him to behave. So you just give him his head and let him pick his own way an try like hell to stay atop 'im! Found out once I got back from this trip that out of the HOG group that traveled that way the next day, 7 of em dumped their bikes in that shit. But that's ok, good roads are waitin for us down south.
Hit the border, had my driver's license, birth certificate, proof of insurance, DNA sample just seconds away... I was ready. Get to the booth, she asks where I'm from. "Anchorage, Alaska Ma'am" She asks where I'm going. "Enumclaw, Wa" She asks if I'm travelling alone...
"appears so" Have any weapons or firearms? "No Ma'am" Have a nice trip she says. Never even asked my friggin name! I'll tell ya Canadia's really jumped into this whole post-911 security first world with both feet. I put my shit back in my pockets without her ever asking to look at it and begin trying to develop an economical way to convert KMH into MPH.
A couple gas stops later and after about 750 miles for the day, I'd survived stealth oil slicks, road construction that went on longer than a chick flick ona 3rd date, and I'm just about to Whitehorse in the Yukon eh? Looking for a place to camp. Come to a small settlement with about 8 houses and a school. IN THE PLAYGROUND is a friggin griz. Now I hadn't risked keestering my .44 to get it into the People's Republic of the Great White North, so suddenly camping lost it's appeal. On to Whitehorse for cold beer and a motel room. If there's any redeaming quality of Canada, it's the beer right?
Turns out, the reason Canadians all have beer fridges is cause you can't buy beer any time you feel like it. No kiddin. You have to go to the Beer Store. No biggie, except the Beer Store is only open from 9-5 3 or 4 days a week. So you have to make a friggin appointment to purchase a sixpack.
So I end up at a bar where I can have a coolie without dippin into my stash. Give the gal a twenty for a pint and she gives me back a ten and a fistfull of coins. WTF!? How much is a friggin pint in this country? Turns out they got a dollar coin and a two dollar coin. Ok, noted. Couple beers, rent a room, crash. Day 1, 750 miles.