back from alaska - part 4

[Steven van Twuyver]

From Tok (shortened from Tokyo - its politically incorrect name prior to WW2), I'm trying to make Whitehorse, the capital of Yukon, some 300 miles away. The main highway from Canada to Alaska was built by the US army to counter a perceived Japanese threat. I'm heading east and its doing the norm with full-on rain. The road from Tok runs through a valley which is surrounded by mountains that are covered with snow all the way to the foothills. I'm hoping the road won't cross over. I know when I ride in the west, there are some huge stretches where gas is unavailable. Many of California's outlying gas stations have closed due to the EPA's mandate for safer tanks. In the west you either know where there is gas or you fill up at practically every filling station. Not so much a problem on a KLR but my Guzzi has a 140-160 mile range and in the desert you better have 75 miles reserve. In Canada and Alaska - gas is available at least every 40 miles. Gas seems expensive because it is sold by the liter. After this year's 30 cent/gallon gas hike in the US, gas is priced nearly the same in Canada as it is in western US. The most expensive gas I purchased was in Inuvik at .986Cn/Liter(regular). That works out to $2.52US/gal. Towards the border I purchase premium for .78Cn/Liter. The interesting thing is I consistently averaged over 50MPG and one tank I got over 60MPG. My first tank of California gas got me 43MPG. I doubt CA's watered-down gas burns 14% cleaner. Two hundred miles from Tok I arrive at Haines Jct.., a town of about 600 people spread far apart. It is 8:00pm and I am suffering from cold. I became addicted to my electric vest and I kept it on almost full time. Occasionally I would switch to heated grips but never both at the same time. I could feel my feet sloshing in water inside my boots. I got a reasonably priced motel and my feet, in fact were dry, they were just so cold that I couldn't feel them anymore. I'm glad I stopped. Much of the local cuisine is fried and choices are often limited to greasy burgers or fried something. I lost weight on this trip. Eating dinner, I watched a hasty BMW rider stop for gas quicker than an Indy 500 pit-stop. He bump started his bike and was on his way in less than 3 minutes. I thought, man those BMW guys are tough and I'm such a total pussy. It's freezing cold, well after 8:00pm and the next town is over 100 miles away - this guy is bound and determined - probably lots younger than me or just stupid. The next day I shoot for Watson Lake. My gortex mittens worked well for a while but are now completely frayed at the seams. They're totally worthless and I need to buy waterproof gloves and Whitehorse is my only hope. There are three bike dealers in this town of 23,000. The Suzuki dealer is a bust, it caters to 4x4 mules and boats. They have a couple of DR350s parked outside but no other motorcycles. The only gloves they have are $120Cn and not waterproof. The Honda dealer doubles as a car dealer. They have zero bikes in stock, but they had a set of medium gloves that barely fit for $55Cn. I am without choice. It's now 3:30pm and I'm going for an ambitious 275 miles to Watson Lake. It won't be totally dark until after 11:00pm. As I get closer it starts to drizzle and my new gloves are working great. I'm on track for an ETA of 8:00pm at Watson Lake. I had taken this section of road on the way up and had previously stopped for some freshly raspberries. I looked forward to another break, but now two weeks later the raspberry season had ended and the fruitstand was closed. At 7:30pm, I see a person hitch-hiking on the other side of the road; literally in the middle of nowhere. It was the tough guy I saw fueling the night before. Wow! Not too much distance. All his gear is neatly stacked on the side of the road, and his chances of getting a ride are zero - there is just no traffic on the road. I turn back and ask what is wrong and he tells me it just quit running. He got so mad at his bike he threw some kind of tool through his Luftmeister bag. As suspected - tough guy AND stupid! He's driving a '78 vintage R100 in poor condition with a nearly bald rear tire. The dealer told him Michelin tires have lots of rubber left after they are bald. He's a student heading from Fairbanks to Louisiana State University for a one year exchange. He's got a grand total of $600 on him and a maxed out credit card - not even enough cash to haul the bike back to Fairbanks where the closest BMW dealer is located. I have some familiarity with BMWs so I offered to take a look. His bike has two different spark plugs, the plug wires are both different and old, the dust boots are all loose and dry-rotted, the low voltage connections to the coil were corroded. I thought maybe he had the same problem as me so I pulled his spark plug wire from the coil and the wire immediately broke inside coil. Shit! He's having second thoughts about my ability, but his choices are limited. I trim the wires back and make new connections on both sides, dry everything and spray on some WD40. But still not spark. Off with the front cover. Check the voltages and the points have good values. I'm almost out of tricks. When in the drizzle, another solo BMW rider blows by and never stops. Pretty lame! Don't know him, but I would have stopped for him. Five minutes later his guilty conscience got to him as he turned back to find out what's up. He is a United 747 pilot and mechanically challenged. To his credit he brought his wife's nail file and I used that to dress the points. Bingo! We have ignition. I'm the surgeon, I have the student close, my hands stay clean, he's forever grateful. It's 8:00pm and the three of us head 50 miles to Watson Lake in the rain. Camping is again out of the question. The motel charges us $69Cn, which seems like a bargain but it's almost 10% of the my rescued student's total budget. He proclaims that he can only afford to camp from now on. I figure he has to average 600 miles per day to make his start date of August 23rd. He's hoping for a homeless center near his college as he has no living arrangements. I admire his ability to live on the edge. His adventure is way out of my comfort zone. All his worldly possession on a 22 year old bike packed with half as much stuff as me. Travel light and go east young man - or something like that. -svt- -svt-