We get a message from Ken and Carol. They’re heading to Whitehorse in the Yukon and having a terrific time. They fact they’ve seen bears just adds to my despair. I really want to be on the road and I know Brian is feeling it too.
Steve Cunningham in Bend, Oregon puts it into perspective: ‘A week in Smithers is better than a week in hospital’, he writes in an email. Despite knowing this to be true we’re both going through stages of deep depression because we’re stranded.
Brian’s second-guessing what he could’ve done differently to make this better. We’re both trying to sort out what to send home to lighten the load. The trip to Prudhoe is an important landmark on our trip. We just have to get there. My desire to see bears is now becoming pathological. Basically I’m pissed off with this situation. We need to get going.
The days roll by. The only thing that breaks the boredom is the travellers who come to the motel, either on their way to Alaska or on their way back.
We meet an American biker who has his puppy in his tank bag. He and Dawson, the American Eskimo puppy, are on their way home from Prudhoe Bay. The pup was only six weeks old when he started his trip. It’s grown and only just fits in the tank bag now. There’ll be some separation anxiety when Dawson has to stay at home instead of going riding.
Middle-aged Australians Brian and his wife, Val, bought bikes in the US and loved their trip to the top of the world. We’re getting very jealous now, and a little worried that the shocker won’t arrive in time for us to make it to Alaska before the weather closes in.
I see a GS in the motel car park and joke that we should get the rider drunk and steal his shocker. David Hand from Florida is on his personal ‘Match.com’ tour of the US and Canada. A mild-mannered divorcee, David’s travelling around on his GS and meeting women from the Match.com dating website for dinner along the way. I can imagine he’d do pretty well in this pursuit. He’s suave in his own way and a pleasure to be with. David ends up having dinner with us because there aren’t any suitable dates in Smithers. He’s a fascinating bloke, on his way to Alaska. David’s meeting his mate John off the ferry at Prince Rupert, and then they’re heading north. It would be great if our paths cross again — if we ever get out of here.
Monday and we’re still in Smithers with no sign of the shock arriving. Tuesday is the same. Wednesday and it’s becoming like groundhog day.
Today we finally have something constructive to do. The top box goes home. The bike will now be 10 kilos lighter and we are CAD $170 lighter in the wallet.
The other good news of the day is the shock should be here tomorrow at 11.00.
Brian: It’s Thursday and if all goes to plan we’ll be on the road before lunch. We pack everything, dress in our bike gear and walk the couple of kilometres to the Harley shop in the blazing sun. Hot and sweaty I stand in front of the fan and eye off all the cardboard boxes just delivered off the plane. Steve comes up to me with bad news — no shock. He rings the bike shop/agent in Vancouver and finds out they put it on a truck. It’s now in Prince George and will be on the overnight transport. Arghhh …
Back to the motel we retrieve our room and wait yet another day. Just to rub it in, the weather turns from the week of sunshine to cloud, rain and thunderstorms.
•
I don’t get much sleep. I’m a bit like a kid on Christmas Eve. Re-packed, I ring Steve and finally there’s an Öhlins shocker waiting for me. Shirl’s as excited as I am. I warn her to be careful, it might be the wrong one.
Sure enough, the shock is for our bike but it’s not the same. The broken one has an upper remote reservoir, which helps keep the oil cooler. This one is just a normal shock absorber and is fitted with a slightly softer rate spring — 59 instead of 60. The spring is also set in its highest position, not wound down like mine. This will mean the bike won’t be as responsive. It’ll sit lower and wallow more in the corners. Despite the differences, this will have to do. We can’t stay here a minute longer.
It takes me a bit under an hour to fit the new shock and re-mount the exhaust system and rear wheel. I borrow a tension bar from one of the mechanics but other than that do it all by myself and with my tools.
Shirl cleans and re-boxes the old Öhlins ready for posting to Sweden.
Steve only charges us for the shock: CAD $1,300. There’s no charge for freight seeing the company botched up the delivery. There’s no charge for labour, no storage fees for the bike and no extra charge for pestering him so much. I donate cans of beer so he and his staff can have a drink on me tonight, and to thank him for lending me the Harley to release a few frustrations on Sunday and for just being a really good bloke.
We ride up to the post office to send off the broken shock. The postal worker remembers us. It’s not everyone who posts a metal motorcycle top box to Australia. He asks what the declared value of the shock is. ‘Bugger all, it’s broken,’ I tell him. He duly writes its value down to under CAD $100. It’ll be at Öhlins in six days. Cost: CAD $146.
Finally back at the hotel we load the bike with its new dry bag full of our camping gear. No doubt it’s lighter but once the dry bag and Andy Strapz bags are on I can’t open the panniers. I didn’t account for the overhang. We’ll have to work around it but it shouldn’t be a big concern.
After 10 days in Smithers, we’re back on the road. We cruise out on highway 37, a road we’ve traversed five times now.
At last we’re on the road to Alaska. It’s nearly the end of July. We hope the far northern summer holds and we make it to Prudhoe Bay.
There’s a plant in this area, the Fireweed, that the locals say forecasts the weather. When the flowers die off, the summer is over. At the moment it’s still in bloom.
Our first taste of Alaska
27 July – 1 August 2012
Brian: It feels good. We stop at the Kitwanga fuel stop and take another photo of the bike at the ‘North to Alaska’ sign. With a full tank of fuel and a brand new shocker we’re full of confidence.
I get chatting to a lone biker on his Harley heading south. He tells us that the pub at Hyder, Alaska was full last night, so Shirl heads off and books the last room in town. So, now we’ve a bed. Let’s get going!
•
Heading north up the Cassier Highway and we’re keeping our eyes skinned for bears. Shirl can hardly contain her excitement and starts to complain of eyestrain. Every strange movement of the forest or a funny rock could be a bear!
It feels good to pass the point where we came to grief and start making real progress, every revolution of the wheels getting us closer to Alaska. Over the hill there’s a great view of the snow capped mountains, then we hit the turnoff to the coast and the Stewart/Hyder border. This is where we hope to see bears fishing for salmon.
The lakes, snow and magnificent mountains keep Shirl busy with the camera. Then we round a bend and see Bear Glacier cascading down into a lake. It’s not as large as the glaciers in South America but it’s still quite a sight.
Shirley: The border crossing is the easiest we’ve done. There’s no need to stop except for the obligatory photo opportunity at the USA/ Canada border marker.
Our room at Sea Alaska is one of the smallest we’ve ever stayed in, but it’s clean and right next door to the bathroom. Carrying up some of the luggage I get a good look at a pickup in the backyard. There’s a couple of huge, muddy paw prints on the bonnet and the roof is caved in. I ask the owner if the paw prints are there for show. Oh, no, not at all. She regales us with the tale that she left her window down a little last night and one of the local black bears tried to force his way into the car and broke the window. He tried to open it from below and above, hence the huge dent in the roof.
Hmmm. I ask if the bears would try and break into our panniers because we’re carrying some food. She tells us that the bears would make a real mess of our metal panniers and we best keep our food in our room.
I guess I must be looking a little pale. The owner assures me there’s nothing to be frightened of. Really?
•
We head up to the salmon stream. There are plenty of beautiful looking salmon struggling to make their way upstream but, alas, no bears. The ranger tells us there were a couple of bears here this morning and plenty yesterday, but none now.
We wait for about half an hour. I get talking to a woman who’s been here since 6.00 am. She and her husband have some serious camera gear and just wait, patiently, for the bears to come. This is their annual holiday, photographing bears in Alaska.
We can’t wait much longer. Dinner goes off soon at the Glacier Inn, the only place in town serving meals. As we ride out everyone is looking into the creek but we can’t see any bears.
After dinner we head back to the hotel. Of course, everyone in the bar is keen to tell us that a grizzly turned up just as we were leaving. Am I destined to never see a bear? To rub it in we get talking to a group of bikers from the UK who shipped their bikes to Canada to ride to Alaska. One of them has the ‘money shot’, a grizzly with a salmon in its mouth.
Brian: An old bloke comes out of the pub and tells us if we want to see bears we should head to the rubbish dump at the back of town. There’s a black bear there now with a female and her two cubs. His advice is to take the bike, don’t get off it and don’t turn it off.
With this salutary advice in mind we head to the dump. Just as we turn into the area we see the black bear wandering up the road. He sees us and so begins a standoff. We’re sideways across the road and I can’t walk the bike backwards to turn it around. Shirl offers to get off so I can. I don’t think so!
We sit and watch the bear as he sits and watches us. Shirl keeps saying how cute he is. I keep looking at how long his claws are.
Eventually I get the bike turned around and try to find another way into the rubbish dump. I think I’ve found a way and there he is again; there’s no way he wants us near the sow and her cubs.
Shirl’s delighted she’s finally seen a bear. I have to admit, I am too.
•
The cafe in town is shut so we forgo breakfast. I want to head straight up to Salmon Glacier, even though it’s pretty overcast and we might not see the glacier. Shirl wants to go and see if the bears are fishing.
To get there we have to negotiate road works. Summer is the only time they can work on the roads in this part of the world and there are road gangs everywhere. They’re a bloody nuisance a lot of the time, but if it wasn’t for a road gang who knows how we would’ve got the bike back to Smithers after our breakdown. The road workers hose down the dirt road so they don’t have to deal with dust. That’s fine for them, but the water makes the dirt slippery, like glass, for us. We’re fully loaded and it’s a trial keeping the heavy bike upright. It doesn’t help my mood when Shirl insists we stop at the fishing viewing area.
Shirley: I can tell he’s shitty, but I ignore his mood and walk straight to the boardwalk overlooking the salmon stream. Within minutes a female grizzly appears out of the woods and wanders into the shallows to catch herself a salmon. We can’t actually tell she’s a she. The ranger tells us that.
Brian has to admit this is fantastic. To watch her is a delight. She runs through the stream, lifting her huge paws high out of the water. She jumps at a salmon but misses. She stalks them but has no luck. The poor thing probably couldn’t catch a cold! She eventually finds the remains of a salmon on the bank, leftovers from another bear’s dinner. She seems very content, chomping into the fish.
Having had her fill she disappears back into the woods only to appear again a little further upstream. We’re truly blessed. She still can’t get herself a feed but keeps trying as she heads further upstream and finally disappears under a bridge.
We head back to the bike and a ranger tells us to wait a minute because this female grizzly often walks across the car park to get back into the stream. We wait but she doesn’t come and we can’t complain. We feel so lucky to have seen her fishing.
Brian: The ranger points up into the hills where the Salmon Glacier is and it’s hidden in the clouds. The weather seems to be drifting in and out so it might be clear by the time we ride up there.
The road is rough in parts and zigzags across the border, taking us in and out of Canada. There are no border posts up here, in the wilderness. There’s no way you could sneak into Canada through the rugged terrain. The road twists around the mountains, in and out of the clouds and past huge patches of thick snow and waterfalls cascading down sheer rock faces. We pass the sign pointing out the foot of the glacier but see nothing but mist and cloud. When we get to the top we can just make out the glacier.
At the side of the parking area is a small nylon tent. It’s the ‘Bear Man’. He lives up here during summer, studying the bears and selling his books, photos and videos to unsuspecting tourists, like us. Shirl buys a couple of photos, of course.
While we chat about the bears we might encounter on the road back to Hyder the sun breaks through and there it is, the Salmon Glacier and it’s magnificent — not quite Moreno Glacier but really beautiful. It’s eerie as the sun and cloud mist over the mountains again. It’s very atmospheric.
We head back down the mountain and decide we need food more than we need to see if there are bears fishing. We’re famished by now.
The new tyres have proved their worth. They grip the rough and slippery road much better than road tyres. They’re going to be perfect for the hundreds of kilometres of dirt roads we’ll ride up to Prudhoe Bay.
•
We’re heading back into Canada to ride up through the Yukon and into Alaska proper. Before we head for the border Shirl spots a small gift shop and emerges with a tiny, toy black bear to join Ken the Koala and Millie the Myladon as ride mascots.
We’ve heard that this border into Canada has a very stylish bear stamp for your passport. Shirl asks about the stamp and we’re told it’s on the counter inside.
‘Help yourself’. So we do.
•
At the fuel station we bump into Mr Match.com, David Hand, again. He’s riding with his mate, John, a retired schoolteacher from Florida. They‘ve spent the last two nights at the Stewart Campground. It’s great to see a familiar face on the road. They think they’ll free camp tonight. They’re keen. We’re going to camp at Bell II, a fuel stop/restaurant/camp ground that’s a very ritzy ski resort in winter.
Riding out of Stewart we see a small black bear on the side of the road, just near the Bear Glacier. He just turns and looks at us before wandering off into the bush.
Shirley: We get caught in more road works for a while and have to wait until a pilot car comes to lead us through. It’s all about safety. The stop/go girl signals us to the front to get away from the trucks, which means less dirt and mud being thrown up at us. We just have to hope the cars and trucks behind us don’t travel too close. These road works can be a bit dangerous and we don’t want to come off and have a vehicle behind run over us.
We bump in to David and John again at Bell II. They’ve had something to eat and are heading out into the woods.
Setting up camp I’m just about eaten alive by the mozzies. They’re appalling. I have to resort to the face net. It’s not very stylish but it’s effective. The mozzies are even bothering Brian, but nowhere near as much as me. I must try and remember the ‘no bananas from March’ theory. But at home that’ll be September, won’t it?
•
The bugs are just as bad in the morning. Waiting for the pilot car to take us from the Bell II gate through the 10 kilometres of road works I have to keep my visor down to stop them biting my face.
Brian: It starts to rain so when the pilot car leaves us we pull into a rest area to put on the wets. We should’ve waited. Just down the road there’s a helicopter lifting logs into huge bonfires. The trees close to the road are being cut down to make way for new transmission lines. Another safety issue — we can’t ride past while the huge Russian Kamov twin rotor chopper is up in the air. We wait an hour until it lands. It’s so different to South
America where the safety-crats don’t seem to exist.
At Dease Lake we get talking to a couple who met David and John at the Jade City store, further up the highway. This couple ask if we’re Ken and Carol. It seems everyone has heard of Ken and Carol, the two Australians riding to Alaska.
We stop at Jade city where they’re selling jade from a mine 25 kilometres from here and black jade from Australia. Shirl can’t resist and buys two mini-bears — one white marble and one green jade. At least they don’t take up much room.
There’s a grizzly cub on the side of the road. I slow down so Shirl can try and get a photo. We give the cub a fright, so we don’t linger longer. A cub means a mum and a frightened cub means an angry mum.
•
At the intersection with the Alaska Highway we stop at the Watson Lake signpost forest. There are thousands of signs from all over the world here. Some of them are so elaborate it seems people plan well ahead even bringing a spare car number plate. People have gone to an incredible amount of trouble to leave their mark. Nicole and Christian have told us they’ve left a sign. Even though we’ve got a vague idea where it is, we can’t find it in the mass of signs.
Shirley: Brian and Val, the Aussies we met in Smithers, recommended the Baby Nugget Campground so we pitch our tent here for the night. It’s a fantastic campground and the mozzies aren’t too bad. Two younger bikers set up their camp next to ours. At the café Brian gets talking to a couple of blokes over a beer or two. He’s obviously enjoying himself so I leave him to it. Back at the camp the young blokes ask where he is. I tell them he’s found someone to play with and get into the tent to do some computer work. When I get up an hour or so later their site is silent so I presume they’re asleep.
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