When traveling with Bob Hodgin....

When traveling with my dad you have to keep in mind several distinct facts, one of which is, he buys things sometimes. Like...vehicles. That's what happened outside of Salt Lake City two days ago when we picked up a '94 Ford F250 Turbo-Diesel, extended cab, long bed, pick-up truck. In my dad's favor, it was a really good deal. So I rode the bikes up a dirt ramp into the back of this rumbling beast (it does have an awesome sound to it), we tied them down, and continued with out trip, (if you're a motorcycle person and this disappoints, A: I'm sorry, B: Read to the end, the motorcycle God's got us in the end).





After loading the bikes we decided to check out the city. Salt Lake City may usurp Charleston as greatest city for thrift stores because of Deseret Industries, a chain of seven non -profit stores, each about half the size of a Wal-Mart, and equally organized.

After perusing the ample shelves and hangers that made up this king of thrift shopping, we headed South to I-70. From there we made our way down to Moab and Arches national park, passing cliffs which thrust upward from a plain of 6,000+ feet to dizzying heights. We rode down grades which, upon cresting the mountain, make you're breath stick in your chest as you gaze down into the abyss which you are headed. Driving down some of these mountains, passing cliffs on one side, and severe falls on the other, I felt very small (even in a giant pick-up), almost like a canoe, riding in the wake some monstrous cruise ship.

Without pause for reflection we pushed into Arches, a small detour from our homeward route which I insisted we make. We traded time for scenery, and came out with a park I will never forget. Tans and pinks turned to oranges and reds as we skimmed over the winding roads to a small hike to see "Delicate Arch". The desert sun reflected off the pavement and sandy soil in waves of heat which forced me to don my swimming trucks (my only shorts, and better than a speedo) and I proceeded with the hike wearing nothing but bright green shorts and riding boots (having previously forgone my tennis shoes to the tree in Utah). Needless to say, I got some very hilarious looks.

The short hike makes me wish I hadn't used the words "amazing" or "breathtaking" or even "life-changing" so I could use them for the true beauty I witnessed in these fine, natural sculptures which protrude from the sandstone. Like lone hunters in a forest of rocks and thin valleys, forged from eons of occasional rainfall, erosion, and salt deposits, these towers and bridges were magnificent. Arches easily stands beside the desolate beauty we found in Alaska and Denali, and is another place I have to come back to.

Following 128, (the "river" road) back North to I-70, we passed numerous campgrounds and vineyards before heading Eastward again. The words of Simon & Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" rang clearly in my ears as we made our way into Colorado, finding a Super 8 on the outskirts of Grand Junction.

In the night dad found it hard to sleep, and decided his time would be better spent using this computer, which in turn woke me up. This morning found us both with sleepy resolutions to stay in bed, causing a late start. We in turn only made it to Denver by 3:30, where we tracked down the giant REI that resides on Platte street therein. We browsed the annals of this camping Goliath before proceeding back to 70, where I fully expected to re-discover the definition of boring in the long, straight roads that inhabit Eastern Colorado and Kansas. I was pleasantly surprised to find, at least for a few miles, clouds the likes of which I have never witnessed. Clouds which look carved by the likes of Angels and Gods, full of battles staged and curtains drawn, with peace existing only in the horizon's serene aerial landscape. I've always wanted to see a tornado, and without knowing the cloud formations that might predate one of natures more violent occurrences, I had hoped to find one upon the edge of some bleak prairie. My hopes were dashed to splinters like a tree in such a storm. It's probably for the best anyways.

The hotel we stopped at gives notices to all temporary residents that the closest tornado shelter is the Methodist Church 1/4 mile down towards the "Business District", and what a business district it is! While that danger seems very distant, the rooms give off a distinct "Shining"-esque feel, with faux wood paneling and threadbare shag carpet, accompanied by a slightly disconcerting, very heavy, closed shower curtain (think scary lady in bathtub!). Budget indeed!

This morning we got up and drove into Hays, Kansas, where we stopped for breakfast at the "Village Inn" a restaurant we had broken down at the previous year in our Volkswagen Eurovan, coming home from the Gillette National BMW rally. As luck would have it, upon returning to the truck, it would not start. After tinkering for about 30 minutes, we decided it was time to give up and call AAA, who told us it would be at least an hour. Meanwhile we walked to Dan's, the mechanic who helped us get our van running last year. Walking back we found Tom, the tow truck operator, load the truck, unloaded the truck at Dan's, who gave a plausible explanation as a bad injector pump, which will take one to two weeks to have rebuilt and installed. We then unloaded the bikes with the help of the wrecker (by the way, sitting on, and then riding off, a moving wrecker, is one of the more disconcerting things I've done on a motorcycle), loaded up our stuff, geared up, and rode on, (don't worry, dad plans on flying back out when it's fixed and driving the truck home).

We rode through the rest of Kansas, into Missouri, and now find ourselves at a La Quinta, outside of Columbia. We may make it home on the 4th yet!

And now it's time for bed, happily awaiting another long day tomorrow!


Zack

The architecture of wedgies and other reason's not to use a stock GS seat!

I left you last in Haines, Alaska, heading South. Tonight, after floating for a few days, and riding a little more, I sit in Boise, Idaha, with much to tell of our recent mishaps and adventures (mental as well as physical!). In the past seven days we have met many people, and therefore many names have been abandoned to the cracks which litter my memory. Henceforth, for any misnomers or inaccuracies involving said names, it is only due to poor recall, and for that I do
apologize.

We woke early to "Check In" for our 9:00 ferry (we had to be there two hours early). As it so happens, our booking got mixed up, and the boat we would be traveling on wouldn't leave until 9:00 PM. Instead of waiting for it, we got the next boat to Juneau, what we had been told was a nice little town. This allowed us to hop on the boat to Bellingham that night at 3:30AM. On the ferry ride over we met a couple, Kevin and Shannon, riding Harleys. They were from Juneau, and had taken a short jaunt up from Haines into the Mid-Western part of Alaska.

I hate to say it, but the advice given to us on this "quaint little college town" was dead wrong. It's a tourist trap of the worst kind, with pitfalls and bear-traps in the form of seasonally open jewlry stores and gift shops. Five huge cruise ships waited like angry rotweilers in the harbor of this little, land-locked town. Don't get me wrong, some of the people who stopped to ask about our trip were great folks. We met a couple from Greensboro, and Arne, a guy from Washington who ran a tour company in the summers and rode a Honda. Then there were the crazy eyed, foamy mouthed tourists trying they're best to devour this city like a rabid ten-year-old on a blow-pop. It was disheartening to see what mass-tourism can do to a place.

While in Juneau it began to rain, and tourists, being the typical tourists that they are, donned their $10.00, oversized, bright yellow poncho's, while I strode around in my dashingly too-small, bright orange, one piece, rain suit. Getting to the ferry terminal around 9:30PM we checked in (feeling a bit damp), and tried (in vain) to find a soft spot in the thin veil of carpet that masked the concrete floor. Quite unexpectedly, I found that the crotch on my rain suit had leaked judicious amounts of water soaking the groin region of my blue jeans, giving me the appearance of having a major bladder control problem. Standing on my toes to dry my pants with the bathroom's hand dryer, I got some strange looks from the terminal workers! Staying up reading, (and eating junk food), Dad snored his way through a few hours of intermittent naps. Around 3:30 the boat arrived and we donned our rain gear to get in line to board the boat. With no cabin to our name, we found what looked like the most comfortable piece of flooring, laid out our sleeping bags, and promptly fell asleep.

Sleeping in was a testament to our recent sleep deprivation, and before we knew it, the boat had arrived at Sitka, where we gave ourselves a short walking tour of the small, foreign Russian, island. Upon returning to the boat we met Emily and Sara, two quite incomparable, and extraordinary UVA graduates. They proceeded to invite us to play Spades with them, where we stayed up late talking, and ended up playing very little of the card game. They exuded a pleasant combination of exuberance, yet refinement, adventure, and a sense of deepset loyalty to their fellow man and country. Like an unexpected color scheme, something that surprises you with it's unorthodox and raw beauty, these two were a refreshing change from the poisonous gift shops of Juneau.

Over the next several days Emily and Sara turned what could have been a long and boring ferry ride into a great experience, and it was with a note of sadness that we said goodbye on Friday. Sadness, however, cannot last long when you get back in the saddle. The on-ramp to I-5 was hit well above the recommended speeds, and brought pleasures one should only experience within the enveloping grasp of romance. I know, I have problems.

Riding through Seattle we stopped at Touratech's National Headquarters to ogle the bikes and accessories. These great parts were about as affordable as Michael Jackson's pinball machine collection (may he rest in peace), so we didn't buy much. We passed into Oregon, and made a beeline for Portland, and Powell's bookstore. Powell's is by far the largest bookstore I have ever been to, and we only visited one location, there are other "specialty bookstores" scattered throughout the city. I picked up books on mountaineering and Ironman Triathlon training, and an awesome t-shirt.

Getting up late the next morning we ended up driving in circles (literally) trying to find McMinnville, were a famous 356 Porsche campout is held every year. Finally finding it we saw some of the most beautiful specimens of the Typ 356 I've ever seen, and met some really cool people while we were at it. Time forced us to leave the camp out, and we stopped in Bend, meeting a few cool Harley riders on the way.




Finally, we get to today, which has been one of the odder (I'm not sure that's a word, but I'm using it anyways) days so far. Looking at the map I decided 22 East looked about as interesting as Kansas, so I saw a small road heading North, and intersecting 26, which looked much more jagged on the map (read as: more curves, therefore more fun) and led us in the same general direction as 22.

Around one o'clock this afternoon, a large insect collided with the side of my mouth (it is HOT here, and so I had my windscreen up to try and encourage a cooler atmosphere for my head). I wiped my mouth as best I could, and closed my visor. A few miles later I felt something crawling on my cheek, and reaching up to wipe whatever it was off, as I did so, I noticed a rather large yellow jacket clinging as if life depended on it, to the inside of my helmet. My first thought was, "This is not going to end well.". Naturally, there wasn't a decent place to stop in sight, and there was a small convoy of vehicles following us. I lifted up the whole front of my helmet trying to throw the insect out, and finally was able to slam into a pull off, kill the engine, and rip off my helmet. Nothing bad came of it, but it just goes to show how even small things can affect you're riding in a big way. I've heard of people wrecking when a bee got in they're helmet, I'm just glad I didn't.

Not ten miles down the road I found myself slamming on my brakes again for, wait, no, is that a tree full of shoes? It was. And, myself having my trusty old pair of Brooks running shoes with me, shoes that have been with me through nearly a thousand miles and a marathon, (and freshly laundered to boot), it seemed only fitting that I add these sneakers to this monument of tired soles and threadbare laces. It took me three tosses to get them up there, but there they will stay, on the "shoe tree" near mile marker 89 on route 26, near Dayville, Oregon.

At the next gas station we stopped to fill up, (rather they helped us fill up, Oregon has an inordinate number of full service gas stations) where a large plastic triceratops accompanied the bathroom key, and the attendant happened to know where Dad could buy some antlers. Riding up the road we stopped to meet Clint, who was at the swimming hole, but should be home in a minute. Great guy, he ended up selling Dad way too many antlers, of which we now have 30-40 pounds strapped on our bikes in various locations. It looks awesome!

Now time for a quick wash up and bed! Dad, who I think may have a rather strong addiction to cleaning supplies, is currently washing his windshield and face shield. Personally I try to do this as in often as possible so the bugs can see the vast wasteland of the comrades coming at them, and hopefully move out of the way. I guess that's why I lead most of the time.





God it feels good to be riding a motorcycle!


Zack

Today we ran out of gas...

The past several days we have been flirting with our fuel tanks. Yesterday, my fuel gauge illuminated it's warning light, giving me a range of 47 miles until I was out. The following mileage sign told me that the next town was 48 miles away. I slowed down from 70 to 55, and began pulling in the clutch going downhill, ducking my head to try and squeeze every ounce of aerodynamics out of the fairing. The R1200 GS does not free-wheel well at all! Luck was on my side, however, and I coasted in as the range indicator ticked to "0". Today, we were not so lucky. Around 35 miles from the US border, dad illuminated me to the fact that his range was down to 27 miles. Miraculously, it was all steep downhill to the customs, the next station however was 7 miles away. By this time my gauge was down to 8, and dad's was scrapeing 0. Within two miles dad had pulled over, and yet again, I coasted into the station with my gauge on 0.

Two days ago, we met Mark, a really cool guy, and fellow ADV Rider member. We talked at the REI in Anchorage for awhile, and the longer we talked, the more we wished we had scheduled more time in Alaska. Oh well, you make the best with what you have. We were forced to leave mom a day early due to the fact that we had over 800 miles to ride before we got to Haines, where we will catch our ferry tomorrow morning.

Yesterday we were introduced to the extreme inconsistencies Alaska has to offer. Exiting Anchorage was cold, rainy, and windy, miserable conditions to ride in. My heated vest was broken, so the most artificial warmth I had were heated grips pressing upon wet gloves. Not a fun way to start your morning. Yet by 1:00 it had cleared into a sunny, albeit cold and windy, day. Next, as we rode we would see signs warning for loose gravel, or broken highway, but rarely had to slow down for these exagerated warnings. Then, we come around a turn, doing 75, and bam, no sign, nothing, just no more pavement! I stomp on the brakes and back off the throttle, but still ended up hitting the shale Alaska uses for gravel at 60, not pleasant.

But we have survived! And made it to Haines to boot! Tonight, we ate with Gordon and Mike, a couple of guys from Calgary, Alberta, (as it so happens this was at least the 12th time we had run into these bikers, but somehow the first time we had gotten their names)! Their blog can be found at gordon3473.blogspot.com/. Great guys on a 1200 Adventure and V-Strom 650. They're riding the ferry from Haines to Scagway tonight.

Two days ago, we also got a call from Ed, then a day away from Chicago, and home. Glad he got there safe!


Goodnight!

Zack

Heading North Again

The "Crazy Germans" whose blog can be found at realgoneaway.blogspot.com/.

When you think of what the Captain of a small Alaskan fishing boat would look like, that's what Ron epitomized. Long weathered lines creased his face and a cigar hung half gone from his mouth. He wore bright orange weather-proof overalls, and a pair of boots made for slick decks and rainy days. And he liked to hit large fish with an aluminum baseball bat.

Ron was a fisherman through and through, and he was our Captain for a day when we went halibut fishing. We ended up keeping over 30 pounds of the great beasts, and with Ron's help threw back at least as much. We fished with a couple from Southern California, Rich and Janet, (mechanical and civil engineers respectively) and Doug, a retired professor from the University of Alaska at Anchorage. We traveled 75 miles in, to a chain of islands which have never been inhabited by man and where the only sign of human touch was the wake of our boat. No sandy beaches here, only huge pine trees and rocky cliffs. Coming back in we passed numerous whales and porpoises, as well as a huge cruise boat docked in Whittier. After shipping the fish home (over dry ice) and bidding farewell to our new found friends, we headed back to Anchorage to pack up in order to drive through Denali and find Fairbanks the next day.

Denali takes all day. Sadly, we did not have all day. Nor did we have nice weather! It was rainy, foggy, and extremely overcast throughout the few hours we were able to spend in this huge national park. The entrance fee's were not wholly wasted, seeing as we did get to spot a mother and baby moose. Tour buses being what they were, we didn't get to see them until they were too far away to make any decent pictures. Finally making it to Fairbanks (which has over 90,000 people!) we found a room, and bunked down for the night. Today we are searching for antlers and seeing sights, before heading South again to Anchorage!


Zack

We made it to Anchorage! Wow what a trip it has been so far! Yesterday we met some amazing people at Fast Eddies in Tok. Don and Barbara from Alabama have been on their 1300 GT BMW for over three months and 12,000 miles! I thought we'd been a long ways! Meanwhile we met, and ate breakfast with, Bill, a 77 year old Canadian riding his 1200 GS to Fairbanks....alone! Talk about a man! On our way to Anchorage we stopped to take pictures at an overlook when a couple more two-wheelers pulled up. "Crazy German" emblazoned the windshield in dust of the front bike, an 1150 GS, and the rear, a Honda African Twin was covered with several small German flags. The two adventurers were traveling from Prudhoe Bay to Argentina! What a trip! Once I find their blog I will post it here so you can keep track of these two "Crazy Germans". They had a quote which stood out to me as the only way to live, "Risk it all!". Everybody we've met has been telling us to "Ride safe!", well these guys told us the complete opposite! They broke the rules.....and it was motivating! Prudhoe to Argentina, one of these days!

We encountered blasting on the road to Anchorage and had long, sweaty delays that let us meet even more great folks! Waiting for the road to be cleared I dismantled and took off my helmet and gloves to cool off. Before we knew it, 5-10 people had gotten out of their cars to come talk to us about our trip. Finally moving on we encountered a few more miles of dusty dirt roads (we've hit at least 60 total) where transfer trucks going in the opposite direction have a nasty habit of turning clear skies into mere feet of frontal visibility. It's a bit nerve wracking barely being able to see your front tire, much less the car in front of you.

Anchorage (being the big city that it is) is equipped with four-lane interstates and an international airport, (not to mention some great restaurants!). We scrambled to find our "it's near the airport" Howard Johnson Motel, only to discover that it was anything but near the airport. Finally tracking it down we picked up mom at the airport, and have used today to get the bikes checked out, pick up the rental car (mom+gear+bad roads=not good), eat excessive amounts of great food (halibut, elk, reindeer, etc.), and see Anchorage. Tomorrow we go fishing in Whittier, and after that it's North to Fairbanks and beyond!


Risk it all!

Zack

Good curtains are a requirement this far North. It's 6:30 AM here in Tok, and I don't think it ever got dark last night. The sun "sets" around 12:30, and rises at 3:00, leaving quite a bit of night to be desired!
It feels good to be back in the United States. Today we make the final run into Anchorage, and meet my mom at the airport around 9:00 tonight. Two days ago we said bye to Ed, pictured above, before he headed south on 37. He sent a comment to this last night and it sounds like the road he took turned out to be quite an adventure, incorporating landslides, river crossings, waterfalls and wildlife! All the best to you Ed, and keep safe!

Two days ago, South of Whitehorse, Yukon, we stopped in a small abandoned hotel and gas station (Jake's Corner) to get some pictures. While walking around I met Bernie and Robert, two old timer woodsmen looking guys installing a water pump on a 70's model Ford truck. While talking to these two guys, who, by the looks of it hadn't seen a stranger in a few months, I learned a lot of interesting stuff about the Yukon. For instance, only few over 30,000 people live in this 180,000 square mile territory. -40 is quite regular in the winter, though "s' not as bad as it was 50 years ago, then it'd stay down there fur 'bout 6 weeks, all you could do jus ta stay warm an' eat a bite". It turns out the man that built Jake's Corner was one of the few to escape from a Nazi concentration camp during the war, and according to Bernie he built the place from the surrounding woods, with his bare hands. Including the indoor swimming pool in the basement. It's a shame the place had to close up.

While at Jake's Corner another BMW rode up, Ron from Indiana, and after talking abit, he decided to ride with us to Whitehorse for some dinner. Once in the capitol of the Yukon, (and with the majority of the territory located within it's borders) we talked around and found the Klondike Ribs and Salmon, a little tiny locale that served what may be the best halibut I've ever eaten.

Moving on the next morning we hit dirt patch after dirt patch, resulting in around 50-60 miles of flaky, slippery, dirt road, where the most we could average was around 50 mph. Finally, with tense shoulders (from the death grip I had on my handlebars) we made it through the dirt and into Alaska. The scenery was about the same, still pine trees for miles around, but (and I'm not just descriminating against Canada) the roads soon became much better paved.

Rolling into Tok we booked a room at Young's motel, and then walked across the street to Fast Eddie's, where our waitress had just graduated from Tennessee Tech, in Cookeville, TN. Wait a second, did you say, Tennessee? Right down the road from home, it is crazy the coincidences you find when traveling the way we are.

It's time for a quick shower, pull on the gear, and meet mom in Anchorage!


Zack

Moose, mosquitos, and mangy buffalo!

Smoke from the fires made a small part of the ride harsh, but thankfully the wind was in our favor, driving it in the opposite direction we were headed.

Here we found our first buffalo, grazing in a field of dandelions, with the wide angle, I was actually only about 20 feet from him here. He appeared to weigh at least 1200 lbs.

Here we are at the start of the Alaska Highway, mile 0, with a friend we met, Stephen from Zurich. Very cool guy who is currently riding his bicycle, yes, bicycle, from Vancouver to Alaska. Talk about legs of steel.

As of yesterday evening we had found ourselves a new companion, been bitten in unspeakable places by mosquito's big enough to be shot, witnessed a short Canadian man bless out a cook in Tim Horton's before ordering food, met a hardcore cyclist from Switzerland, riding from Vancouver to Alaska, and been told that the route we were taking (the only route we could take from our position) was closed due to forest fires. Overall a very productive day.

Today however, we rode past forest fires on roads that weren't closed, saw numerous buffalo, black bear and moose, and managed to snake our way to Watson Lake. The ride grew boring after some time, reaching long straight roads that seldom connected with anything of interest. We passed over grated metal bridges that like to jerk the bike a little. These were found to require the most concentration. Overall I found myself thinking of strange things to keep my mind occupied. Sometimes I would do math in my head, calculating distances and times, figuring kilometers to miles, and back. At other times, I start imagining the "what if's" everyone who has ridden a motorcycle past a transfer truck has thought about. What if I rode too close and fell off the bridge? What it a moose runs in front of me (which one did) and I can't brake or swerve enough to avoid it? I wear lots of protection, knee, elbow, back, good helmet, good jacket, kevlar long underwear, knee high riding boots, I'm protected more than most linemen, but you still ask yourself, could I hold the bike up if I rode through that bush at these speeds (often exceeding 70 mph). I like to think I could, and if I do go down, I feel pretty good about the fact that I'll be alright.

Now we get back to Ed, the guy from Chicago who had dinner with us and camped in Grand Cache a few nights ago. Well we ended up riding together the past few days, enjoying his company and the stories he can tell from working with the Chicago paramedics. He's just a good, solid guy. However, in his trip to Alaska, it seems like everything has gone wrong. To date, his passport was lost in Chicago City Postal, the riding partner who had planned to go with him for well over a year, backed out the last week, his tire is wearing unseasonably fast, we are hitting far more construction than anticipated, slowing down our approach to Alaska drastically, and to cap it all off, he desperately loves and feels the need to be with, his 7 month pregnant wife, who it is obvious he constantly thinks about. Not to mention he has to be back at work on the 21st. When it rains it pours. Because of these tribulations, he's been considering turning back the past several days, but persevered, now, with news finally reaching us that the upcoming road is filled with over 80 miles of shale and gravel, Ed has decided to head South, taking 37 South, past Skagway, touching Vancouver before heading East again to Chicago. It's been a good ride, but sometimes you have to make a hard choice, and heading home now is probably the wisest thing he can do. We will sorely miss his company.



Zack