Stabbing Westward

So, here we are 9 days into a trip, and the last post is a week old describing my first night outside the US. If this seems strange or unusual to you, you're new here. Welcome!

Actually, although this has always been behind since the days when I had to pull out my laptop to make updates, it has never been quite this bad. I'll do better.

The next couple days kind of confirmed what I suspected about the difference between Southern Canada and the northwestern US. That section of the US is about as sparsely populated as you will see, but in Canada it's in the south, where most of the people are.  Winnipeg is a big city, skyscrapers and all, and it was late in the day and I still had a long way to go.  There's a beltway, and it's probably twice as efficient as the boulevards, but there are still traffic lights.

I got into a cheap Comfort Inn had I had booked earlier in the day (which is the ramen noodles and spoon story from Facebook) then plugged in all the electronics to charge, and packed it in. 

When in hustle mode, we try to eat before checking in, in this case hours earlier heading into Winnipeg, and take as little into the room as possible, disturbing as little as possible. Get out the next day's clothes, which for me is a pair of drawers and socks rolled up in a T-shirt, and pack up the dirty stuff. If someone knocks on the door, I'm not dressed. 

Another early start, and a run diagonally across Manitoba to Lloydminster on the border of Alberta, where I had enough time to service my drive chain while packing down some tacos and a 22 from across the street.  When the liquor store had bars on the windows and a cashier behind her own window, I told her it seems like I shouldn't be leaving anything strapped to the bike unsecured overnight. Her response was that, although the town is very nice, and if I were a block off the main drag I would be fine, this is the biggest burg on the road between  Edmonton and Saskatoon, and all different types of people come through there at all hours of the day and night in different, uh, levels of need.

If you're paying attention, this contradicts the earlier statement about not doing much disturbing when in a hurry. And I did leave the camping gear on the bike, the bag for which is kind of locked with a cable, but it's still unzippable although you can't get the bag itself. I left that to chance.

I know enough about enough to know that these posts need photos. I'll do better on that, too.

Gratuitous photo of a giant fishing bobber in northern Wisconsin 

So, What Happened the Third Day?

The next morning, I woke up at a nice Holiday Inn just northwest of Minneapolis/St Paul, set to head to the north country, and determined to make it work. I did my stretches and exercises, got my ass out early, and tried different techniques to keep my shoulder stretched and limber during the day. Two Aleve, some Lidocaine, and a Tylenol. It was a crisp, cool morning under bright sunshine, and North I went. It was a beautiful chilly ride through some gorgeous wooded country up to Baudette at the Canadian border. It really is the land of 10,000 lakes.

I turned to head West, hugging the border to the next crossing nearest the Northwest Angle and the northernmost point marker, when I suddenly got a sharp burning pain in my left chest. For the love of God, what is going on? 

I immediately went into worst case mode, keeping an eye out for where I'm going to pull over when everything starts turning white. But nothing happened, and it went away relatively quickly. So, I'm alternately questioning the wisdom of crossing the border,  but also comparing it to the pain that was moving all around my upper left back. Contrary to what you may have heard, my heart is in perfect health. Within a few minutes, with the border crossing quickly approaching, I decided "fuck it." If this is how my story ends, then put it on my tombstone. I'm going.

I crossed the border, headed for the dirt road leading to Northwest Angle, crossed the border again, and made my way to the blessed ground for a picture with the buoy.  I then rode 25 feet back to the "resort" bar and posted up on a stool. This is all good stuff, and should be another post. 

The close of this post is that it's all related to the same mess in my left shoulder, it's only happened once, maybe twice in the two days since, and I can actually make it happen by tensing myself a certain way. 

So if I could figure out a way to keep all of that manageable, without getting the other side involved, I could probably make it. And, that's exactly what's been happening over the last 2 days. I'm on that regimen of Aleve, acetaminophen, and lidocaine, I figured out the best ways to keep it unstressed, and the last two days have actually each been better than the day before.  Tomorrow is only 6 and a half hours of actual saddle time. 

I'll try to get another post out in the morning.

Unintentionally ended up along the Great River Road for a period on Sunday. There's not much to it all the way up here. 

A sign montage that you'll only see in Wisconsin.

Quick Update

I've been sleeping well, and if short at least very solid. I have not had bouts of drowsiness on the road, which is great. All my preparations have paid off, and everything that can be under control, is under control. I've been religiously doing my stretches and exercises every morning, and that seems to be paying off as well.

I've accepted the fact that I will be in some level pain the entire month and on a steady regimen of Aleve.

Day 3 was on the bike at 7:15 a.m., and put the kickstand down at a comfort inn at 9:05 p.m.

I ran downstairs for something at some point, and when I got back, I found my credit card on the floor in the hallway near my room. Depending on how you look at that, it can be different things. I'm calling it a win

The First Taste of Dirt

Smack in the middle of the longest day of the 28 (in part because of this) was a lot more dirt road than expected. The time calc on the GPS seemed oddly long, and when the pavement ended, I had lot further to go than I had figured, and the way out to the Trans-Canada Highway was twice as long, all dirt when I thought it was all paved.

But what a difference between the ride in, and the ride out.  On the way in, natural streetbike reactions kicked in. Loose gravel. Get slowed as quick as you can, and hope you don't have to change direction. Then tiptoeing along trying to stay on the hard pack, which is washboard and surely destroying everything in the panniers, and not get sucked in and swamped in the loose gravel.

By the time I had gotten to the land's end and the Northernmost Point marker, I was getting a little bit of my old dirt bike vibe back, and it was going a little bit better.

When you cross the marked border, you just keep right on truckin for a couple miles until you get to a 4- way dirt intersection. Straight is a dead end, and left goes somewhere not the northernmost point in the Continental US. Everyone who passes this point, no matter which way they go, has to come back past this point on the way out.  On the northeast corner is a gravel lot, and along the road is a little booth maybe 6' by 10' or so. Mounted to the outside wall is a Batphone. That's Canadian border services. Inside is this wobbly podium thing that you actually have to hold on to while you're using it, or have no chance of tapping the correct button as it sways back and forth. That tablet allows you to fill out a form, which gets approved electronically. Or not, I guess. In theory, you could probably just go from one to the other and knock them both out.

Not me, though.


So after my photo op, I figured I'd take a well-deserved break in the restaurant there on the waterfront and enjoy a cold beer. Then I realized there was another Batphone at the dock, and I could report to Canada from there. The guy was real cool and wanted my bike. 

The barmaid asked be if I wanted another beer, and I instantly declined because I didn't want to have to stop and piss twice, and I didn't want to get sleepy riding into the setting sun hours later.

And then I said F it for the second time in a couple hours. It was a fantastic decision.

After the second blonde ale,
I jumped on the bike and gassed it. Dirt mode. Ultimately, the front is going to do its  thing, the rear is going to track how it wants, and my job is to keep the center of gravity in the vertical plane, and keep the whole system heading generally in the intended direction. At 45, the sturdy suspension gobbles up those stutter bumps. I didn't have to worry about peeing; I could just stop wherever in the middle of the road and let 'er rip. And, I did. In a half hour or so, I was on the Trans-Canada bearing down on Winnipeg.

This was a 14 hour day.

So How's It Going?

I almost quit the second day. 

And the third day. 

If you know me well enough to be here reading this, you know this isn't my first time out of the neighborhood on a motorcycle. Although it is a completely new setup, which is adding some adventure to my adventure, I pretty much know what to expect out on the road. I also know that everything's going to hurt at some time or another. Especially at my age. On my last trip back from Texas, however, I developed what I call a Vulcan nerve pinch in my left shoulder. When not riding, it tends to come and go, but it has quickly come back with a vengeance and is moving all around that neck/back/shoulder area. I tried everything to prepare, including scheduling a massage for the Monday before I left. Ultimately, I believe that probably only aggravated it.  It was stinging and burning literally before I got halfway across Pennsylvania, and by the time I got off the bike I couldn't stand it. The next morning was cool and wet, and while that's a different post, that combination always leads to more muscle tension and less physical freedom of movement. Before I even got to lunch in Illinois, it had me seriously questioning why someone would do this.  And then...  

After clearing Chicago, I started to develop a sting in my right shoulder in the exact spot this one started. Now, I've been doing everything I can to favor my left side and do everything with my right, leaving it hang by my side, draping it across the bars etc. Also, I have a crude throttle lock mechanism to relieve cramping, and allow for short periods of repositioning,  but my right shoulder is basically always in use.  If that's going to end up the same way, this ain't going to work. Not for another 26 days, anyway.

I immediately got off the tollway and pulled into a gas station,  plunked my ass down at a little table, stared at the damp and dreary sky, and contemplated my existence. It was not promising. I whipped out my phone, and found a tiny little diner a few miles down lonely old US 20. (road tripping sure has changed a lot over the years).  I walk in, and the place looked like it would hold about 20 people and 18 of them were already there. All the windows are open, and a little fan was doing its best to keep the air moving. I sat at the counter, was greeted by waitress who surely was named Flo, and ordered up a nice full house breakfast with corned beef hash on the side. It reminded me of the answer to my earlier question.

I decided to continue until the end of the day and see what happened. If my right shoulder was going to be a problem, that was going to be it. I would baby it the best I could, and hope for the best.

D-Day

The date that has been circled on my calendar for almost a year is finally here. It's go time. 

During that time, I have spent countless hours prepping a bike that I bought specifically for the task, compiling, managing and completing checklists, and borrowing, buying and returning parts, gear, camping equipment, and other necessities. 

The bike was first. Knowing that there was a thousand miles of dirt and gravel on this trip, I knew I did not want to put any of my pretty bikes through that ordeal. I almost bought a used Sportster cheap, and really fell in love with HD Pan America, which is a fantastic machine but plagued with teething problems that I don't need to deal with in the wilderness.

So I bought a used Honda Africa Twin, which ironically has already done the same trip last year, and set to work. Repairs have been made, maintenance has been done, and a host of upgrades and doodads meant to make my life easier on the road ("farkles" in long distance rider parlance ) have been added. Nothing was a last-minute scramble, and that part is pretty well set. 

I've gone through two sets of pants and 3 pairs of boots (which still don't fit) to come up with a good set of weatherproof protective gear so I don't have to keep an eye on the sky and find a spot to pull over, dig out rain gear, put it on, and then sweat in. I now pull a couple vent zippers and collar closed.  I have a nice, quiet new helmet with integrated Bluetooth for music, phone, and comms from the best GPS on the market (more on that later.) I have food, water, and shelter to survive the unexpected for two nights.  I took the whole Beverly Hillbillies rig for a full day ride and set it up in the backyard two weeks in advance, so that I'd have time to make adjustments (and fix the tent pole that I broke.) I ran it out of gas on purpose, to see how far I could actually go.

What has kept me busy since then, and is still not complete, is the mapping and routing. GPS navigation has always been the bane of my existence. Not that I'm not good at mapping and routing; I'm great at it. But getting all that stuff into a GPS is way more complicated than it needs to be, and when it's done the GPS never agrees with what I wanted to do anyway. And the H-D system on my 2015 is the most useless piece of shit ever conceived, incapable of doing anything more complicated than, "take me directly to this bar." So it's always been printed and taped to a gas tank or slid into a tank bag sleeve, and I use the screen to see when my left onto Boondocks Rd. is coming up so I don't have to creep along looking for it for 20 miles.  But I'm trying again to use this brand-new one as designed.     

The overnights and daily mileages have been known for months. Tough ticket reservations (which is most everything in Yukon and Alaska) have long been made. As of now, I have the first two weeks or so in the GPS, most of the later stops and points of interest at least flagged as waypoints, and the last 10 days is basically going to be "go directly home" anyway.

Let's get the hell out of here.

Countdown

[60 Minutes ticking timepiece intro plays]

Two more days until I venture out on the biggest adventure I will ever venture to take. 

Riding to the northernmost point in North America accessible by road has been my BHAG for, say, 20 years or so, and now it's really, finally about to either happen or not happen as fate shall decide. Arctic Ocean or bust.

This trip has made it as close as "looks like next year" at least twice, scuttled each time for reasons equally legitimate and disappointing without so much as a checklist prepared. I've been collecting ideas, clippings, and advice over the years, but that's it. As you would imagine, I'm over the moon that all of it is finally being put to use, and will serve as more than a reminder of an unrealized dream haunting me to my grave.

The process reset again with a new job 2-1/2 years ago, and a concerted effort to get my feet under me, establish my value, and hoard PTO. That led to a casual conversation with my boss last spring, which was met with "then make it happen!" He didn't have to tell me twice. 

And here we are two days out. I've never been more prepared for anything in my life. Donna and I were certain that I would be out of my mind these last 2 weeks, up all night, furiously scrambling to finish everything and solve problems unsolvable in the time I have left. If she didn't end up euthanizing me to put her out of my misery, I would end up climbing onto the bike hours behind schedule with no sleep, an Amazon order shipping to a hotel I hope to be at in two days, and a need to stop at a Cycle Gear, Walmart, and Cabela's on the way.

Instead, last week at this time I legitimately thought I might be sitting here today with nothing to do but wait.  That didn't happen, either, as I do have a few things to wrap up (that's another post entirely.)  But I did spend a nice, relaxing weekend with Donna at the lake, and the bike is 100% prepped, packed, fueled, and ready to go. I have time to write this.  With any luck, I'll be sipping a cocktail Thursday evening and heading off to bed in a state of peace.  

When the route was coming into focus and the daily average became a real number and smacked me in the face, I put in for the extra half day on Friday and will knock out the first 500 under what looks to be perfect conditions.  I will leave Saturday morning from Toledo perhaps in rain, but with a positive attitude and a nice head start.