Part III "Away We Go!"

The Saturday morning alarm rang a little to soon for my liking but I was committed so it was up and at 'em. Luckily I had retired early the night before so it was only a question of grabbing a quick shower and strapping the last few items onto the bike. Lori came downstairs to assist me and we had the bike loaded. It was not without a few pangs of sadness as we said our good-byes.

 Two of my work mates, Allen Stowell and Mike Silver, offered to ride along with me for the first part of the trip. This was an offer I couldn't refuse so I quickly piped up yes please! Allen and Mike are both intrepid riders in their own right. They have logged miles upon miles together having just recently returned for another marathon tour of Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana. We had arranged to meet by 6:30 AM at the quintessential meeting spot where all of Canada meets up...Tim Hortons. It was just around the corner. It was 6:15, I was a tad early but Mike and Allen were already there nursing the first coffee of the day. A large tea for me, some chit chat and we saddled up and were off.

Since we were in Langley it was a quick run up Glover Road and onto Hwy 1, The Trans-Canada Highway. The first thing I noticed was how cold it was. Cold enought to turn on the heated grips and make me wish I'd gone for less shorts and put some long johns in my duffle bag. It was cold all the way east to Hope, especially the stretch through the wooded section east of Chilliwack.

We rode in  formation, cruising along at around 120 kph. Allen and I both ride V-Stroms and have often commented to each other how the "Strom" is in it's sweet spot doing 120 - 130 kph turning about 4100 rpm in 6th gear.  I would come to echo that sentiment frequently over the upcoming days. This bike purrs along in a happy groove  and is miserly with it's fuel consumption. In what seemed minutes we were in Hope and heading for Rolley's for breakfast. Now anyone who rides the Fraser Canyon, Manning Park or anywhere east of Vancouver is well acquainted with Rolley's. Tucked into a corner right behind the Cheveron station in Hope B.C., Rolley's has been a motorcyclist's Mecca for many years. You can go for rides with old friends or perhaps with a new member to the pack and someone will say, "Let's stop at Rolley's" and everyone will know exactly what the plan is. It's one of those "unspoken" things. It's fast, reasonably price and friendly. Having the gas station right next door is a added bonus.

Soon breakfast was over and it was time for Mike, Allen and I to part company. I confessed I was a bit nervous undertaking such a trip but they quickly quelled any trepedation I had with bolstering words of encouragement. Safety first. Stop when you're tired. Start early, finish early. All things I was well acquainted with and part of my riding mantra, however; it was reassuring to hear it from friends. After the obligatory photo session in the parking lot I was on my way. Thank you Allen and Mike. I really appreciated your support.

                                                     
                                                         In The Parking Lot. Hope B.C.
                              (left to right) Mike Silver, Allen Stowell, Steve Buckton
                
So here I am, zipping along Hwy 3, heading into Manning Park and it is bitterly cold. Unbelieveable considering this was August 20th. Experience taught me that once I was over Angel Summit and rolling into Princeton it would warm up. Once again Princeton didn't let me down and the change was remarkable. This section of highway never fails to produce numerous wildlife sightings. Deer, sheep and bears are all regularly seen on the side of the road. Today was no exception with lots of "Ditch Donkeys" aka deer, a few raggedy looking sheep but not one bear.

Soon I was aproaching Osoyoos and it was getting hotter. On the western edge of Osoyoos is the Desert Model Railroad Museum. I have passed by this nondescript building situated in an industrial park many times. I kept telling myself, next time I'm going there. Well my plans were open, I had the time so I peeled the bike off to the right and into the parking lot. I've always enjoyed model railroad displays especially the details that go into creating the scene. The trains are secondary to the craftsmanship that goes into building these miniature worlds. This museum was exceptional. What struck me first upon entering was this wasn't your typical Canadiana scenery. This layout was all German complete with large industrial towns, rolling countryside and massive alpine vistas. It was truely unique. It is a family operation where the Mother handpaints all the figures and buildings, Dad is the electronics and computer tech and the daughter builds all the scenery. Great job.

Checking my watch I thought I'd better get going so it was saddle up and roll. Now I had this plan about cooking my lunch along the way. Well it wasn't my idea it was Lori's. Here's how it goes. You take a widemouth thermos, stuff it with Chineses noodle packets, fill it with boiling water and it can sit and cook while you're riding along. An hour or so later when you stop for lunch voila, it's ready to eat. In fact Lori takes these to work with her. So I stop and get my lunch all prepared knowing that when I get to say Grand Forks, lunch will be hot and ready. I'm messing around in the top saddle bag so I place the thermos on the bike seat. Since the bike was on it's side stand and leaning at an angle I should have forseen the imminent disaster. I stood helpless as my shiny new thermos, full of my wonderous lunch in the making, fell to the ground. As luck, or in this case, bad luck, should have it, the thermos had the old-school glass vaccum bottle in it so you know the rest. It's a humbling task to take your new thermos and throw it and it's contents into the trash can. Well at least I still had my orange and granola bar.

Grand Forks came and went. One thing of note. Ever since I was a kid I've always kept an eye out for license plates. I used to write down a list of all the different ones I'd see while on road trips with my parents and brothers. This carried over into adulthood and I still make note of the various ones I see along the way. That afternoon I saw several "foreign" plates. The two furthest ones were Nova Scotia and Arizona. I am very happy to report both of these were on motorcycles! Well done! Back to Grand Forks. The Nova Scotia motorcycle pulled out in front of me and I quickly fell in behind the rider and his passenger. This guy set a beautiful pace of about 110 - 120 kph all the way to Creston where he stopped for gas and I stopped for water. We exchanges a few brief pleasanties but there was nothing really to talk about. We both understood the camraderie we had experienced and the moment we shared along the road. Priceless.

I wanted to make it to Cranbrook and was starting to push it a bit harder now. My friends' advice from that morning replayed in my head so I thought let's call it a day and start fresh tomorrow. So about 45 kms west of Cranbrook I come across Yahk Provincial Park. This a very small park, very clean but not offering much in the way of amenities. Other than fresh cold well water you're pretty much left to your own devices. That suits me to a T. It's a self-registration system so I scout out a campsite, stake my claim and prepare to walk back to the gate and put my money in the conveniently provided envelopes and stuff it in the lock box. I get about ten steps and this pick-up roars up and this little old lady bounces out. She's yabbering a mile a minute and I stand there staring at her with my mouth open. Evidently she is the "Camp Host" and thought she'd drop by, say hello, collect my fees, to save me the walk of course, sell me a monster pile of firewood, enough to heat a house for a few days and bend my ear off in the process. I fork over the $16.00, decline the wood as I'd never be able to burn that much, she frowns a bit saying it could get cool at night. Next she jumps back in the battered pickup truck and careens off leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. Well the road always produces interesting characters and here was one of the first of the trip. I knew there'd be many more along the way.

So the day ends with a quiet campsite, a yummy dinner of curried rice and beans, some fruit, a pot of tea and a good read. Pretty soon I'm nodding so it's lights out, wrestle my way into the sleeping bag and drift off to the sound of a slight breeze tickling the pine trees and the lonesome whistle from a far away train.