As we looked at the map over coffee, we digested the reality of the time and distance demands of our travel plans. Taking energy management and tolerance for daily mileage into account, we shifted gears and decided to skip the San Juan Islands of Washington and make a b-line for Canada. We crossed at the Sumas border and were the only ones there.
Immediately across the border was a little wine region. I had pinned a great-looking one from Instagram, but they were closed on this particular day we were passing through. We ended up settling for one we could find that was open after running around the area for a bit, and shared a flight and charcuterie board – a refreshing long break in the ride.
Downtown Vancouver felt like an upscale version of San Francisco – all of the traffic, expense and high-end eateries and retail stores, but none of the fentanyl addicts crawling the streets. We made a pit stop here so Donny could get his puffer jacket patched at a Patagonia store. Vancouver was also an appropriate place to sample and pick up another bag of quality coffee beans before pushing on to Whistler.
Whistler reminded me of Squaw Valley back home — another cute but high-end ski resort town with 1960’s winter Olympics heritage. We booked the cheapest AirBnB we could find on the 3rd floor of an old ski lodge. It was a bitch hauling all our heavy bags one by one up tight stairways through almost gauntlet of heavy auto-close doors along the way.
Our bodies were demanding rest … and desperate to maximize our time in beautiful big mountain country, we 100% ignored those demands. We hiked six miles to Cheakamus Lake, skipping the crowds at the wildly popular Joffre Lakes. Not that we had much choice as the coveted parking reservations for Joffre Lakes were long gone. But we prefer a quieter alpine escape instead of sharing the trail with herds of tourists anyway.
On recommendation from a local dual sport group online, we took the bikes on an accidentally-longer-than-intended 200 mile loop on some scenic ridgeline roads surrounding the lakes a bit north of us. We mapped out our route in a cute little bakery in Pemberton.
The photos were worth the additional exhaustion that ensued. I call this ride “Pastries and Peaks.”
The road from Whistler to Lillooet was twisty and mountainous, with peaks towering so high that you had to tilt your head all the way up to barely see the snowy tops. Lillooet to Clinton felt like we had teleported back home to Reno, with the brown grasses and chunky brown rocks covering the hillsides. We went through a dozen terrain changes from mountains, to forests, to dry open spaces, and farmland with green rolling hills.
What continued to be remarkably scarce for us was wildlife. Despite the near-constant yellow diamond road signs advertising that moose, bear and caribou would be waiting for us on the sides of the road, I saw hardly any at all — and certainly none that I could get a quick photo of. I did see a dead baby black bear on the side of the road, but it wasn’t too photogenic. It was frustrating hearing other rides say that they were seeing several bears and moose on their rides.
Both bikes began piping up for serious attention. Floof’s upper engine rattle on hot starts became more and more prominent. We were confident this was being caused by a worn out cam chain tensioner — apparently a common problem that Tiger 800’s have. The African Bike developed some incontinence — a coolant leak out of a weep hole on the right side.
The next major service opportunity was a large motorcycle shop in Anchorage, so we called ahead to get parts on order knowing we’d be there in a couple of weeks. As a bandaid for Donny’s bike in the meantime, we picked up the only coolant available at a gas station and stored what we could in a 2-liter water bottle to keep topping the reservoir off every day. Unfortunately, the coolant was a clear medium yellow color, so it looked like he was hauling a bottle of piss around every day.
Making our way north we were just wearing out our tires on highways and accepting the reality boring asphalt days are part of the adventure too. But contrast is part of the ecosystem of life, and what makes the good so good. The rain makes you appreciate the sunshine more. The cheap grocery store parking lot meals make us savor the indulgence of restaurant splurges. And a sudden break of never-ending forest opening up to a mountain view will make your heart skip.
