4 Days To Whitehorse

If nothing else this trip is really all about riding up The Dempster Highway to Tuktoyaktuk and camp for a night on the shore of The Arctic Ocean.  This presents a logistical challenge in that the start of The Dempster Highway is in the Yukon Territory, Canada - approximately 1600-miles from my house in Bellingham Washington.  There are only two ways to get up into the Yukon (by road): from the East along the Alaska Highway or via the Western approach on BC Highway 37 (the Stewart - Cassiar Highway for those traditionalists amongst you).   While I have ridden up and down BC 37 several times I have only taken The Alcan once and that was riding South, so I had firmly entrenched the idea of a Northbound Alcan route to get my ass to the Yukon.   The next challenge was that NE BC/NW Alberta have been decimated with extended and catastrophic wild fire seasons these last few years and the reason for calling off one previous attempt.  Thankfully for whatever reason the fire forecast for that part of the world this year was for normal to below normal through July which then defined my window of opportunity - that and a dentist appointment.    

So with the calendar set and general route planted the details filled themselves in with the help of a little math: 1600÷4=400.  It was then a fairly straightforward matter of finding places to stay overnight that were about 400-miles apart.   And one of them had to be The Northern Rockies Lodge on Muncho Lake, because The Schnitzel.  Fortunately that is about 400-miles from Fort St. John and about 400-miles from Whitehorse YK.  And with Quesnel BC being about 400-miles from Fort St. John and about 400-miles from my house the route was decided and reservations made.

As the departure date approached I was all consumed with trip prep work.  It's been awhile since I went out on one of these self supported motorcycle rides and with camping likely the only lodging option available at times there was a lot of bits and pieces that needed the dust shaken off.  As it turned out most everything was functional and at most only some minor maintenance attention was required - that still required continually visiting the local REI store on a far to regular basis.

A brief future me aside here but one of those prep tasks was to transfer the pertinent information (fuel, food, lodging, viewpoints) from the infinitely helpful but unimaginably bulky annual Milepost magazine to 5"x8" index cards I could then fit into the window of my tank bag.   Initially this was to be honest just busy work to keep my mind in the game but I was mildly pleased with myself as to how useful they have been so far - especially on the Alaska Highway section.

And just like that it was June 18 and off I went, riding the motorcycle down my driveway then "turning left"; heading North to the Arctic Ocean. The first day through the Fraser Canyon to Quesnel was warmer than the weather forecast promised but easily managed.   A routine was quickly established that was to be followed for most of the next 4-days.  The day was broken into 80 to 100 mile sections where at the end of each section I was at a gas station fueling the bike or at a rest area taking a break, having a snack and/or addressing any bodily functions of concern or arrived at the day’s destination.   In Quesnel a pleasant evening was had with dinner at the Barkerville Brewery followed up with a Dairy Queen Blizzard in the town square/parking lot, listening to the tortured renditions of everyones' favorite elevator music songs performed by a bunch of local kids lead by a far too enthusiastic middle aged adult who you would think would know better.  Full points to the kids though for getting on stage.

The destination on the second day was Fort St. John with a planned divergence through Dawson Creek and the Mile 0 sign just to make the whole Alaska Highway thing official.  A day of no consequence other than the utterly useless service provided by the Pine Centre Mall  Starbucks, a 1-star review was duly posted.  With the menacing clouds reinforcing the weather forecast rain gear was adorned about 80 to 100 miles North of Prince George.   Other than a few drips and drizzles this bark was worse than it's bite    At Chetwynd I made an executive decision and opted for the more scenic route through Hudson's Hope over the Instagrammabke moment in Dawson Creek.   I hade made this same ride 10-years ago almost to the day, and all along were signs posted as to how high the future Site C dam reservoir was too reach.  And from memory with the reservoir now flooded it sure looks like they achieved those goals 

The third day was up and over to The Northern Rockies Lodge and The Schnitzel.   It was also going to be a chance for me to try out some new extra gas containers I brought with and to confirm just how far I could go between fueling stops.   This was going to be extremely relevant on The Dempster Highway where that distance exceeds 230-Miles (400 km?).   The plan was to ride 50-miles, empty the first extra gallon into the inline auxiliary tank then ride another 50-miles and empty the second extra gallon.   With Fort Nelson 240-miles (400 km?) away from Fort St John I figured that if I ran out of gas before then I would have to recalculate my approach for riding The Dempster.   The good news is that I had plenty to spare at the end of the test; with some back of the hand figuring indicating I should expect at least 300-miles (500 km?) when all fueled up.  The bad news is that it was a miserably cold, windy and rainy day that had finding dry enough windows of opportunity to transfer fuel between open tanks on the side of the surprisingly busy highway a challenge.  But I managed.   The guy from Quebec on the red Honda however, who I had being playing hopscotch with on the highway all day had had enough upon arrival in Fort Nelson and headed straight to the office of the hotel/gas station to get a room for the night.  But I had a date with The Schnitzel so off I went towards Muncho Lake, and quickly reconsidered the wiseness of my decision as the weather got far worse.  However it all cleared up on the other side of Steamboat Summit (as I kinda of suspected it would) and made it to dinner in time not withstanding the construction work delays through the Provincial Park.

The fourth day was an absolutely glorious run along the BC-Yukon border into Whitehorse.  Final roadside wildlife tally was a few bison and a handful of bears - one grizzly and the rest blackies.  Regretfully this bike that I'm on this trip has been woefully underused these last few years.  So much so that for the majority of the 4-days my buttocks have been trying mightly to reassert dominance over the "comfort" gel pad installed in my seat.  As the ride progressed towards Teslin I was happy to find that my buttocks had indeed been victorious and my comfort should be ensured for the remainder of the trip.  Even more comfortong news found my glamping tent at the Whitehorse Motorcycle Park upgraded to fully powered but at the unpowered tent rate I had booked it at.   

Tap Tap Tap - Is This Thing Still On?

Getting all one’s ducks in row is a lot more work when you are retired… especially if it’s been awhile since you’ve had to get all your ducks lined up.  Anyways, I’ve been in trip prep mode for the last few weeks and making sure all the tech still works is next on the list.  So ya, this is a test.   

Just Like Riding A Bike

 

The last I had travelled substantial away from the 4th Corner was way back at the first week of March 2020.  I was scheduled to get on a plane Sunday March 1, bound for Kansas City to run a week of training sessions.  Foreshadowingly (that's now a word) Kansas City was where I had led my first sessions under the newly bestowed label Technical Trainer - the training department has since been obsolete and I was transitioned into something else. On that Friday word came down that all corporate travel was immediately suspended (the pandemic, d'uh) and explicit permission was required from the highest level of C-Suite executive before proceeding.   Against the easier-to-ask-forgiveness instructions of my then "manager" I went ahead and requested (and received) said explicit permission - the submission form letter HR had sent out late in the afternoon helped.  While the amount of traffic through Sea-Tac that Sunday was normal it certainly was not upon my return the following Saturday.  The term deserted comes to mind as I recall walking through the terminal to the car park shuttle bus.  475-days later I find myself trying to remember how to ride a motorcycle, 400-miles a day, day after day day after day.... and getting in and out of hotel room without forgetting anything.

Pan Con Todo

Southern Spain seems to be more about food than any other thing.  After riding through a big chunk of Andalucia I am struck by how much of every possible piece of arable land is being used intensively for agriculture.  And most impressively it's not a mono-culture focused activity, every other field had something else growing with some sections being harvested and others just being planted.  There was a particularly aromatic few miles that I will long remember where what smelled and looked like sweet onions were being crated up. 

A variety of perennials were in the mix as well. I am for sure figuring out how to bring home some fresh press virgin Spanish olive oil and maybe some wine, probably red.

In the Malaga market where I happened to serendipitously stumbled into on that first morning anything and everything even nominally considered edible could be found with a huge percentage originating within 100-miles of the place. Vegetables, fruit, tomatoes (just based on size and variety deserving to be called out singularly regardless of the whole fruit or vegetable thing), fish, beef, pork, lamb, chicken, spices yadayadayada it was all there. 

And in the restaurants - and where there was one restaurant there was at least another - the abundance continued.  Even the lunch menu in the most backwater place had several pages.  Although simply asking for a "jamon y queso con un Coke-a-Cola" usually did the trick.  And regardless of what was ordered a side of bread is was served with everything: breakfast, lunch and dinner.  And it wasn't always that steaming when you rip it open fresh out of the oven doughy goodness.  Sometimes it was a just slice of the local equivalent of Wonder bread or a bag of miniature bread sticks.  I definitely have a preference for the fresher.

At one point the shacking of my head must have reached terminal velocity as a yet another side of bread was delivered with my ham and cheese sandwich; "pan con todo" came the proud triumphant shout from the next table.  This then prompted reminiscents of a Spanish grandmother who always asked where was the bread when it was not immediately present on the table.  As someone who had survived the Civil War in the 30's bread was often the only food on the table.  So without the bread there might as well be no other food.

One Map, One Motorcycle and One Reservation

This trip was a to be a little different than previous rides that (mostly) did not commence directly out my driveway.   No guides, no following van with a spare bike, no luggage waiting for you in the room... OK, that one I is kind of nice.  If I want to sleep in and take a faster route, I can.  I feel I want to spend a half day at some Roman ruins, I can.  If I completely change my mind and decide to go somewhere else on a whim, I can.

This ride is also to be a continuation of where should Ian move to when he retires.  Spain keeps popping up on the list so voila, here I am.  Nowone of the suggestions that always shows up when researching on how to become an ex-pat, or in my case and ex-ex-pat, is to rent before if ever buying a residence.  Thing is, here in Spain there are whole villages for sale - cheap.

Hey Google, how do you say open house in Spianish?

10000 Steps and a nap

There are some redeeming features with Google when it comes to traveling, such as answering those two most pressing questions one can sometimes find asking themselves: where am I and what did I do last night?  Fortunately the answer is always close at hand on your phone.  Thanks Google!

Malaga is branding itself as the City of Museums, which is kind of ballsy considering that reportedly there literally were no museums here 20-years ago.  It also now finds itself at a point where the economy has become tipped over towards tourism so much that tearing down an old mansion (palacio in the local parlance) to put up an brand new modern hotel is as almost a monthly or even weekly occurrence.   There are recent attempts to build the new from the inside out saving the old facades but it really is just a matter of when not if the full Disneyfication is complete.  Which will be too bad because it’s kind of a cool place at the moment.  

Having inadvertently arrived for International Museum day and the annual Night of Culture with all entrance fees waived and a live music concert on every corner I somehow managed to mostly walk my first day in town with only the Picasso museum - a local boy made good - enticing me to line up with the crowds.  A late afternoon siesta had me feeling like a native and well set up for that evening’s Tapas and Wine tour which did not disappoint.

Hey Google, where is Malaga?

“Malaga Spain is five thousand four hundred and fourteen miles from Bellingham Washington”
Hey Google, thanks for being so helpful.
“I’m sorry but I can’t help you with that now”

The question I should have asked is “Hey Google, how do I get to Malaga?”.
But then I already knew the answer to that one.

1) 9AM airport shuttle to Seattle,
2) 4PM flight to Calgary
3) 11PM flight to London - Heathrow
4) 3PM airport shuttle to London - Gatwick
5) 8PM flight to Malaga
6) 11:30PM taxi ride to the hotel.

And in the midst of all that I managed to make a foodie tour reservation for Saturday night, change my return Heathrow airport shuttle drop off terminal and the departure time for my SeaTac shuttle pickup.  Logistics, it’s all about the logistics... at least until you get there.