Now I hate to say it, but the Alaskan Highway got real crowded. I mean all the traffic gets bunched up at the construction zones, then (bikes in front) we go like gangbusters when released on the far side. I may mention that, even though the rest of Canada is very conservative on the speed limit enforcement, on this run it is more or less do what you can. However, I don’t want to be the fastest on the road. I can terrorize myself on the way to work if I want. I’m here to be here, traveling and smiling and making video tapes in my head. I may take a picture for you guys, but the full motion stereo high definition stuff is in my head.

Back to the crowds. When the bonehead RVs and overloaded pickups with a trailer or boat start to bug me, I just cut off sideways somehow. If there is a logging road, an obvious game trail, or just some nameless two ruts going nowhere, I take a side trip. I usually get off and walk or hike around. When I’m good and tired I contemplate the ether. When all is squared up with the universe, I get back on and go.

Howsomever, on one of my side trips up the side of a mountain, I slide my bike about a hundred feet down a dirt bank, and no, not on purpose. It doesn’t flip or get stuck, and the trip back up the dirt was actually kind of fun. But I vow to keep the motocross stuff down to a minimum. From this point on, I do keep the dirt riding in the baby category. All of you who have seen me on the old 450 Husquavarna desert racer will agree, my skills are not up to it. Hell, I bet those who have seen me on the 175 Honda would be afraid.

In Whitehorse, my friendly Harley dealer and I get acquainted. I went in for an oil change and a new back tire. Now this much was planned. See, in studying my maps before I left, I learn that the infamous Dempster highway is really tough on tires. My bike is loaded with me (a svelte 270), and the duffel bag (about 50) is way back behind my seat where it gives me some support in my lower back. This puts almost all the weight on the back tire, and not much at all on the front.

Getting back to my tactics for the Dempster, I wanted to do it with a new tire. If you do the Dempster, you do it complete or not at all. There is only one way up, and you come back the same way. It is so isolated that if you break down, they charge $5.00/mile to come and find you, then charge you for the service, and if you get towed out it is even more per mile. I whined and strategized with this guy at work, old Dave. Now don't make a mistake about Dave, he might be in a software factory now, but he used to have a real life. He worked on the pipeline. He told me that even though your best plans for gas, service and schedule look good from down in the lower '48, Alaska has a way of it's own. The line on the map might look like a road, but it can wash out, close, or change characteristics within hours. Well, I'm still a long way from Alaska, and the Dempster is up in the wild lonesome reaches of Canada, not even as civilized as Alaska!

I put on an "H" rated (really high speed) tire. It has soft rubber which takes the sharp gravel easier, and will also do for those highway miles. It has a nice rounded shape, giving traction in the curvy gravel even better than my stock tire. Besides, it's all they had.

The mechanic also finds a cracked exhaust header. Heck, I thought the bike was sounding better due to the high altitude or something.. I use ear plugs to cut down the wind roar, and only the mellow notes of the Harley pipes come through. Those notes did sound different. Almost like my old '66 Sportster when it was all hotted-up. They will replace the header under warranty. The only problem is that it is "Canada Day" weekend and it is already quitting time on Friday. I spend the night in Whitehorse, at the Family Thrift inn recommended by the dealer. Now, I can recommend it to you. They are great people at the inn.

There, I meet a very interesting pair.

While doing my laundry, I meet a German guy, who has the biggest BMW I have ever seen. This bike must stand six feet high when it’s on the center stand. He is carrying a photo tripod (that's it behind his seat), huge aluminum box panniers, knuckle guards, etc.. on this machine. It’s the one in the middle.  After swapping experiences, he says I should have the decal of the moose on his windscreen.   Next to this is his dad’s smaller bike, a 1,000cc BMW, he has the flags arranged nicely on his spare tires.   The teeny one is my 1200 Sportster. You can tell by the rope.

The son has two Gold Wings at home, one with a side car, plus a third one to use for parts!

Guess what. A bear knocked the old guy off his bike. They were going down a narrow, dusty, lonesome road in Alaska. The son was leading, but he stopped and looked back about every ten minutes to make sure Dad was keeping up. When he didn’t show, son tracks back and finds Dad in the road and his bike in the ditch. Dad is panicked, saying "Where are you, the bear is coming to kill me!" Dad has a dislocated shoulder and is in much pain. His bike has a big hole in the cam cover of one cylinder. They wait for about ½ hour and a car finally comes by, picks up Dad and Son follows to the hospital. His arm is eventually OK, but has to be bound tight for five days. The son fixes up the valve cover with Devcon epoxy, and remounts it upside-down so the leaky part stays on top. You might just barely see, on Dad's bike, the cylinder by the driver's left foot looks a little goofy.  Those BMWs are cool. The big one has this trick front suspension that doesn’t dive when you brake, and looks like the hysteresis is next to nothing. It does seem to have about 27 parts, though. If you study that big bike, you see that his front wheel is turned, but that fender-looking extension is still poining straight ahead.

Today happens to be the sixth day of Dad’s recovery. Son packs up both bikes. Dad is slow walking, and needs help to climb up, but figures he can steer and gas it with his right hand. Then, they are up and gone. I’m not using their names, maybe more later.

Now, it's been many months since we spoke. I've been trying to find them on this goofy information highway, but I have not had the pleasure. So, to respect their privacy, I won't ramble on... Good luck to both of them.

I blast off on Saturday from Whitehorse, loosing both money and confidence during the stay. But hope springs eternal. Next, I leave the famed Alaska highway and tear north on what’s called the Klondike loop.