North To Alaska with Nestor - Part #3 Busted in Alaska

Early Saturday morning we cross over into Alaska, the final state in Nestor's epic journey from the southern most tip of South America north on his Vstrom650.

The international border is wide open tree-less swath for anyone to wander across. Of course here in the oft frozen north, not many persons are actually out, casually wandering around.

The sign makes it official, we are in Alaska.  

Nestor is really getting excited about completing his quest. 

On the back of the Welcome to Alaska sign are numerous stickers, notes and writings. So...

 we document our travels as well.

Thought this was a curious sign.

Particularly this part of the sign....

What does a suspicious plant look like? 

Shifty eyes, gold tooth, crooked smile, thin mustache? 

Talks with a heavy Russian accent? What? 

Alaska is too PC.

Canada makes it easy to identify...   anything or anybody.

Leaving the policing of suspicious plants to the highly trained professional botanists, we ride on.

Luck is with us, before reaching Tok, we catch a glimpse of the mighty Denali peaking through the heavy cloud cover. 

Only moments later, like a cancan dancer flashing some skin,  she is gone.

Denali's peak is just above the far mirror.

Put the telephoto lens to work to get this shot.

The further north we go the trees get shorter and skinnier. Explained this phenomenon to Nestor when he asked why the trees looked so different in Alaska.

In Delta, AK we locate the official ending sign post for the ALCAN Highway. Of course the road doesn't end here, but splits. Go straight to Fairbanks or turn left and head down to Glennallen and Anchorage. 

Coming into Delta I heard a clacking noise from the rear drive of the sidecamper. Could not pin-point the source. Concerned that it might be the rear wheel bearing again (like what happened in Canada last year) as it sounded familiar. 

Reached out to friends and contacts to find who could help us in Delta. Then remembered that the URAL dealer in Anchorage sold out and moved to Delta a couple of years back. I met Mickey Sherfield 4 - 5 years ago when I rode a URAL sidecar to Alaska from Key West, Florida.

A few phone calls were made and we found Mickey. He and his wife Muriel each rode their URAL sidecars over to the state park where we had stopped in downtown Delta to check out my rig. Not sure of the source either, Mickey offered us free camping in his front yard plus the use of his tools and workshop to trace down the clicking noise.

A typical modern Alaskan log cabin, Mickey and Muriel's home with us in their front yard.  Neighbors didn't seem to mind us sleeping out there. Pretty laid back group of people. 

After thoroughly dis-assembling the rear end of the bike, nothing wrong could be found. Bearings are smooth and firm. No loose bolts... no kinks in chain observed...  counter sprocket tight... hmmmmm

On re-assembly, the noise was gone... mystery.  Well, at least we had a bathroom, laundry and a shower to use for two days while working on the bike.

From Delta we head straight to Fairbanks and the Haul Road leading north. The sky is cloudy but no rain. The weather app says slight change of rain. Since it has rained for the past three days and more coming in the next several days, we decide to ride north as far as we can while we have a break in the bad weather.

There is some is some confusion about the towns of Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay. In the early 1960's a trucking company called Deadhorse Truckers had the contract to supply the needed gravel for a new oildfield airport near the Arctic Ocean. This land near the Prudhoe Bay oil exploration area previously had no name, so workers began to refer to it as Deadhorse. As the oil companies developed the wells in and around Prudhoe Bay, they referred their area as Prudhoe Bay. A group decided that it was hard to attract workers to come to a place called Deadhorse, as really the work was in the bay area. They pushed for a name change. Up until the year 2000, both areas were mentioned on the census reports, but starting in 2000, the census only refers to Prudhoe Bay, leaving Deadhorse in the dust bin of history. 

Today the name Deadhorse lives on in the world of tourist bureau marketing departments and adventure riders.  Who wants to pay a lot of money to go visit a bay that could be on the Puget Sound somewhere, when you could claim fame for having been to DEADHORSE... much more romantic and adventuresome sounding.

So you see, Prudhoe Bay was just a marketing gimmick by Big Oil... 

Deadhorse, like Coldfoot, is where the real Alaska frontier lives on...

if only for the Haul Truckers and in the minds and imagination of the adventurous.

The Haul Road snakes along the Alaska Pipeline all the way to Deadhorse. 

The further north we go the road is getting wet, sloppy and very slippery. 

No sun to dry out the road, too much rain for the graders to fill in the numerous potholes.

Since the Haul Road is the main and only supply route for the north slope oil fields, it is constantly maintained. But not much they can do with grading and filling holes when mother nature rains for days on end.

Getting closer to our goal, we reach the Arctic Circle sign in a soft drizzle.  

Only one more day of riding to reach Deadhorse.

We gassed up in Coldfoot, the mid-point of the Haul Road, for the final push tomorrow to Deadhorse. By nightfall we're camping in the Marion Creek campgrounds, a few miles north of Coldfoot. The campgrounds has picnic tables and raised platforms for tents. Nestor is glad to not be sleeping on the cold wet soggy ground.

As I prepare to set up the camper rig for the night, I notice it is sagging badly.

Checking under the camper, I find the middle cross member that supports the tub has snapped in two. Only the front and rear cross members are holding the sidecar together. Not good losing one third of your structural frame when on rough roads.

Nestor commented that he heard the sound and saw the rig fly up high when I hit a water-filled pothole just before Coldfoot. 

Assessing the situation, we agree it is too late to do anything tonight. We carefully ride the Beast the few miles back to Coldfoot in the morning. Maybe a welder there can patch it. 

Next morning at the only truck repair shop in Coldfoot, I spot welding equipment sitting against the far wall. Great! 

But the only man working there says he doesn't know how to weld, says it was left there by the previous employee. Said if we knew how to use it we could... we don't.

Glancing down at the maps on the tub, am wondering if this is the end of the line for the Beast. 

No more adding state stickers?

No more long distance exploring?

No more taking the road less traveled?

Not quite ready to abandon the Beast on the Haul Road, I rummage through my parts and tools. Pulling out two lightweight one inch ratchet straps, we think maybe they can be used to lift the sagging tub.  By hooking on the front cross member, across the top shock mount and hook on to the rear member, we try wrenching up the tub. It come up some. Now most of the tub weight is bearing down on the shock tower, on the wheel side frame near where the crossmember snapped. Hmmmmm.

After watching our struggle with the small straps,  a friendly trucker offers a heavy duty three inch cargo strap which I eagerly accept. This stronger strap we run under the tub, securing the ends on both sides of the tub. Now the weight is supported both front to back and side to side. 

Okay, good.  Now, where do we go...? 

What are our options? We are 250 miles of gravel road with more potholes and miles of washboard from Nestor's goal of reaching the northern most point of the Pan American Highway. We can try pushing on to Deadhorse, but if there is no welding service up there available (Remember all workers and companies up there work solely for the oil businesses), we would then have to ride another 500 miles back to Fairbanks. Am not sure the Beast can survive 750 miles of potholes and washboard with only a couple of ratchet straps holding it together. If another frame member breaks, the Beast will have to be abandoned on the spot. Then pay a small fortune to recover it. Plus Nestor's vstrom cannot carry his gear and me both if we break down. 

Reluctantly I must conclude, I am busted in Coldfoot. My ride to Deadhorse is over.  The only sane option is to try to return to Fairbanks for a proper patch weld. Nestor says he will go with me to Fairbanks to make sure I arrive safely.  

After explaining there is only one road going north to Deadhorse, it is impossible to get lost. I encourage Nestor to finish his ride without me. No need to rush, he has all day to reach Deadhorse. However it is 250 miles without any services, no houses, no business, nothing.  He will have to cross one last mountain range and then miles and miles of open tundra. Take enough gas, food and camping gear (just in case) and go. There is a motel reservation waiting for us in Prudhoe Bay. 

Nestor finally agrees. He will ride on alone. 

 I will slowly limp the Beast back to Fairbanks to find a welder who can repair the break 

so we can ride back home to Texas.

Reluctantly Nestor heads north, as I point the Beast south. It will take two days of riding south to cover what we rode north in half a day yesterday. 

Stopped the Beast again at the Circle Sign for a photo. 

One can see how the sidecar frame is sagging. This is with the ratchet straps in place.

Near the Yukon River the campgrounds are a muddy mess, trying to find a half-way dry spot for the night.

Place a jack under the rear cross member to help stabilize the rig while camping.

August is one of the rainiest months up here. The mud, calcium slop and water-filled potholes everywhere. Beast has no problem getting thru and around, slipping and sliding, but everything is messy and dirty.

On the way back to Fairbanks, the engine temperature gauge starts flashing RED...
Oh oh, the engine is overheating.

Coasting to the side of the road and shutting the motor off, I discover the radiator is completely clogged with mud. There is zero cooling air going thru. Tried to clean it with a stick, but the calcium mud is baked hard! Sticks break.  If I use a steel blade to clean the soft aluminum cooling fins, there is a risk of a puncture. What is needed is water and a high pressure car wash spray. Fat chance of finding that on the Haul Road.

The only alternative is keep an eye on the temperature gauge and stop when it flashes RED to let the engine cool down.

While the engine cools, check the ratchet straps. They are holding in spite of the slippery mud... Thank you Mr. Ice Road Trucker!

A large RV who had passed me the day before looks like he got too close to the soft edges and lost it. Well almost completely lost it. While he saved the rig, that will be a very expensive towing recovery.  Nothing is cheap up here and two wreckers coming all the way from Fairbanks will be very costly. Hope that is not a a rental RV.

Every year several motorcyclists are killed on the Haul Road. Conditions can quickly change from dry and smooth to wet and slick within miles. The shoulders of the road are very soft and unforgiving. A US State Governor several years back found that out the hard way, breaking his leg when the Harley he was on got too close to the edge.

Motorcyclists riding north are more cautious as they learn the road and the conditions. Seems they get overly confident when returning south and ride faster than the road conditions warrant. Maybe that is what happened to the RV driver. He was heading south.

Finally made it to where the gravel ends and the pavement begins, only seventy more miles to Fairbanks. Looks like a good washing is in order before any welding starts.

After taking two days to get back to Fairbanks, the first night finds the Beast and I camped in the Walmart parking lot surrounded by many other RV's, campers and  trailers. 

Around midnight, I hear Nestor's voice. While it took me two full days to ride the 250 miles back, Nestor rode the 500 miles from Deadhorse to Fairbanks in one day. He had made it to Prudhoe Bay the same day we parted. Then early this morning he gassed up and rode the 500 miles only stopping for gas in Coldfoot.

Reaching deep into my gear, I pull out a silver flask of the finest single malt scotch that was brought along just for this occasion. That night we celebrated Nestor's accomplishment of having ridden the full 16,000 miles of the PanAmerican Highway from Ushuaia, Argentina to Deadhorse Alaska. Nestor, the Iron Man.

The next day we meet up with Richard Machida who has helped me locate a welder to repair the Beast. Richard also had helped me locate Mickey in Delta. We first met several years ago on the URAL ride to Deadhorse. Richard is also good friends with Dom in Denver. 

The sidecar community is a very small world. Because of our unique mode of riding, the sidecarists tends to stick together and help each other whenever possible. Those who have never ridden a sidecar cannot fully appreciate the benefits a sidecar offers. 

Once a motorcycle has a sidecar attached to it, it is no longer a motorcycle but is now a different machine. It handles different, feels different, reacts different than two wheels. Not difficult to learn but it does require a new skill set to safely drive.  As some say, you drive a sidecar, you ride a motorcycle.

The Karold welding shop opens at eight A.M. Am there waiting at 7:30. By 8:45 they have the Beast repaired and back on the road. Many thanks guys.

Richard and his wife Bridget invite Nestor and I to stay at their house in Fairbanks. Pulling up to the garage, Richard notices the rear frame member and the anti-sway bar on the Beast were rubbing against each other. That may have contributed to the cross member breaking. We make the adjustment so the two pieces no longer hit each other. Thank you Richard for spotting that. 

Here, Richard's Mom, Richard, Bridget and Richard's blue URAL are saying goodbye 

as we start our way south to Haines and the ferry.

We camp another night at Snag Junction Provincial Park. An early morning angler trying his luck.

Most Canadian rest stops were clean, neat with large paved parking areas and a fantastic panoramic view. We did travel with our toilet paper though, just in case. Which was a good idea as was needed from time to time. 

From Fairbanks we are cross back into Canada with Haines, Alaska as our destination. Haines is where we will board the Alaska Maritime Highway ferry for Bellingham, Washington. 

A mother and her young watch as we slow down to take their photo. Seconds later, they have disappeared into the underbrush.

One of the most beautiful sections of road of the whole trip was from Haines Junction, Yukon down to Haines, Alaska. This is a do not miss roadway. Provincial national parks are on both sides of the road, very few houses, no businesses and little traffic.

As we neared the Alaska border going south, a mountain range with numerous glaciers lines the horizon.

Very little traffic, pristine lakes and clean cool air. Life is great!

Low rear tire???

In more than a few towns, people commented that the rear tire looked low. It does, doesn't it? 

Well, it has 36 psi in it. Am running a 15" automobile tire, same as on the front and sidecar. 

It is not wearing down very fast.

Spotted another moose family out munching together. They stayed out a bit longer for a photo.

We finally arrive a day early in Haines to meet the Alaska Maritime Highway ferry going south to Bellingham, Washington. While expensive, $1500 (without a cabin) for one motorcycle and one person, it is well worth it due to the totally different experience and sights one will see from the ferry that are never seen when on the road.

We find a road turn out with space we can share with a couple from Austria, Franz and Yalinda. Rained that evening and all night.

Nestor rigged up an additional cover for his tent and gear, trying to keep stuff dry. Drew upon his experiences in the Colombian military to fashion a cover.

Next day was bright and sunny, an opportunity to hang pants out to dry.

We started with a campfire, though all the wood lying on the ground was wet, so a struggle to keep it going.

Made our typical breakfast, coffee in the JetBoil and granola bars. This unit heats up water fast. Can endorse this product.

The sidecar weld is holding, but have not removed the ratchet straps. Have more confidence to ride faster now. 

Looking out over the Chilkoot Inlet, we rest and wait for the ferry loading tonight.

more to come... the ferry experience.

CCjon

North To Alaska with Nestor - Part #2 Crossing Canada

Halfway across Montana, Harley rider Tony says he wants to stop and visit some old friends near Harlowton. They have a large sheep ranch. Nestor and I ride on. We have a tight time schedule if we want to make Deadhorse and get back to Houston by the end of the August. 

Nearing the Canadian border, we talk and decide to make the crossing early the next morning, a Sunday.  Will be less traffic with less stress.  Finally find a room in Shelby, MT after passing through several small towns. Seems there is a regional swin meet going on and families have taken all the motel rooms for miles around.

Next morning, Well... the Canadian officials let us in...YEAH!

From the border, we head up to Calgary looking for Route 1A which is the old road north to Banff and the ice fields. Crossing a First Nations land, we stop for gas, asking a local where the station is. Not visible or obvious from the road, but is on the back side of a large metal building next to the Subway shop and highway maintenance shop. 

Only one other person in the shop when we order a sandwich. By the time we leave 20 minutes later, a couple of dozen persons have gathered, unsmiling, watching the two palefaces with motorcycles. Seems they are having a problem with outside drug dealers coming in and corrupting their youth. Smiling politely, we wave our goodbyes, taking our Metamucil and ibuprofen with us.

After hearing and rejecting the $500 a night motel rate in Banff this holiday weekend, we opt for camping in a roadside turn out. Nestor's first night for roadside stealth camping. We actually pitch our gear behind a couple of low dirt mounds, placing ourselves out of sight of the busy divided roadway, just yards away. As dusk falls, a couple of eighteen wheelers pull in. Turning off their lights, but leave their engines pulsating, each driver catches a quick forty winks.

Early the next morning we are treated to a wonderful sight as the sun breaks over the mountains, creeping its way down the barren rocks toward tree studded slopes of green.

The view behinds us.

And in front of us.

Rolling north, by midmorning we stop at the Athabasca Glacier. Blue skies are cloud-less but the air is crispy cold. 

Too many tourists wandering around to leave our bikes unattended for a walk-about.  

A quick photo will have to do and we are gone.

After Jasper, we drop down out of the mountains and ride forested areas toward Grand Prairie. 

As dusk nears, we start looking for a campsite. All gates leading away from the main road are closed and locked. We see a lot of oilfield activity here, trucks of all sizes and types. Asking security at a dusty production camp, we are directed to a river side camp where many Newfies (Newfounders) have parked their travel trailers while working in the Alberta Oilfields. 

From freezing cold near Banff and the glacier this morning to summer heat down by the river. When riding Canada in the summer, your elevation determines the weather. 

Nestor unloads his gear to set up a tent. No need for a heavy sleeping bag, will be a warm night.

After Grand Prairie we cross into British Columbia heading to Dawson Creek where the Alcan (Alaska / Canadian) Highway starts.

Far side of a green field something raises its head. It's looking at us.

Using the telephoto lens, can zoom in to see its a mature Mule Deer. Must have heard our bikes and lifted his head to see what the racket was. His antlers are still covered in velvet too.

In Dawson Creek we stop for a photo at the sign indicating the start of the Alaska Highway. 

Both Vstroms are running strong.. Only glitch has been the lid rubber gasket on the Beast's eight gallon auxiliary fuel tank has expanded from the gasoline additives and will longer seal properly. This allows gasoline to slosh out the top on rough pavement. Not good.

We're directed to Northern Safety, an industrial supply house with some really helpful workers. They search their parts bin, coming up with  three solutions. The old expanded gasket has a square cross-section. Solution one has a round cross-section, but the diameter is too small. Solution two, also round, but thicker. That works better. Looks like it will hold, but will it go soft and expand like the old one? Solution three, a Fix-A-Gasket kit. Using the old gasket, splice it and glue the ends together using the chemicals in the kit.  Not knowing for sure which solution will work best, I buy all three. $25.00

After a night of laundry and showers in Dawson Creek, we ride up past Fort Nelson, to take a detour north. Destination? the border crossing with the Northwest Territories.  

In a remote section we spot our first black bear. A young cub wandering in an open turn out.  Caution: where there is a cub there is a good chance there is a watchful Mama bear near by.  Everybody here knows mama bears are the most dangerous of all bears.

We rode a 100 meters or so into the NW so we could say we were there, then turned around to ride back south and continue on northwest to Watson Lake.

Getting closer to the Yukon province, the terrain switches from very flat to rolling hills, then to mountains. 

Riding along the blue waters of a long narrow Muncho Lake was spectacular. Hard to keep one's eye on the road with such a beautiful sight on the left. 

Beautiful blue sky, no rain, not too cool, great day to be alive and riding.

Coming around a curve we are surprised with a herd of Rocky Mountain Sheep licking the salt along the roadbed. All ewes and kids.

Not a mile down the road, we come across a bachelor herd of sheep grazing along the road also.  

The boys club here. 

Both rams and ewes have horns, but the males are wall hangers.

Another first for Nestor, riding a steel grated bridge. Always an un-nerving experience for the first time motorcyclist. The grating wants to steer the motorcycle, jumping between one row to another. The natural tendency is to tightly grip the handlebars and fight the grating. Bad idea! The best technique is to relax your grip on the handlebars and let the bike find its way across.  It will without falling over if you keep the speed steady.

Nestor gets it right the first time. There will be more bridges and longer bridges like this one.

The next first for Nestor was stopping to watch a huge bison grazing along side the road. When I ask him to park near so I can take a photo with both of them in it, he is hesitant.  The animal is bigger than Nestor's bike.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

I guess the practice this Welding/Tire Shop is, drop your tire out in front of the shop and someone will fix them.... eventually... maybe?

Both bikes are pulling strong, no more issues. The fuel gasket is holding tight.

Before we left Texas Nestor noticed a gel cushion in my office. He commented that the only issue he had with riding all day was how hard his seat was. Suggested he take the Egg Sitter and try it. Is not designed for motorcycle use, but why not...

After a week of riding Nestor exclaimed that the Egg Sitter was the best addition he could have made to his bike. Every night he made sure that little gel pad did not get lost or left behind. 

When I ask Nestor to stop again for another group photo, he really questions my sanity. 

This is his first sighting of an adult black bear... and close by too.

"Quick, snap it and lets go!"

The rule when in bear country:

Never shut off your engine to photograph a grizzly.

Leaving BC, we cross into the Yukon, skies are clouding up....

and on to Watson Lake, home of the Sign Post Forest.

From Watson Lake we rode thru heavy rain and more rain. The only thing on our minds now was that gap of clear weather straight ahead.

By nightfall we reach Beaver Creek, Yukon, near the Alaska border.  Snag Junction Provincial Park campgrounds looked quiet and inviting.

The rain slows to a drizzle as we doze off for the night. 

Next morning I see Nestor coming out of the picnic pavilion.  He says it was drier in there than on the ground. So he didn't bother with a tent last night, just stretched out his pad and sleeping bag on the concrete. We were too tired last night to see the No Camping sign above the shelter entrance. 

Oh, well.......

The morning air is crisp and cool on Snag Lake. Hey, no rain.  Hoorah! A great day for entering Alaska, the border crossing is only 25 miles away.

After brewing some coffee while munching on granola bars, bikes are packed and readied. 

Next up, Alaska.

More of Nestor's Alaska ride to come,

CCjon

North To Alaska with Nestor - Part #1 Southwest US

The phone rang in early July, my nephew Nestor Pinilla from Bucaramanga, Colombia called to say he was in San Antonio, Texas. He had ridden his Suzuki Vstrom 650 up thru Central America and was coming to visit us.

" Fantastic Nestor, come on over to Houston "

Nestor is the only one on the Colombian side of the family who rides a motorcycle. In fact he rides so much he has seen all of the PanAmerican Highway from the southern most tip of South America north, up thru Central America and is now in Texas.

As we visited and caught up on family news, I casually asked if he still wanted to see Alaska. With his positive reply we quickly put in motion everything we would need to prep both motorcycles for a northern trek into the frozen Arctic regions.

Nestor would ride his Vstrom and I would take the Dam'it, the sidecamper.  Though now the name Dam'it has been retired, as when Nestor first saw this huge sidecamper, he exclaimed, 

"IT'S A BEAST". 

Well, it is. I liked Nestor excitement so much the sidecamper now carries a new moniker, The Beast.

The Beast has been mostly repaired from it's trip on the Trans-Labrador Trail and eastern Canada, but she still needed a few maintenance items attended to before taking on the northern challenge of Alaska. This would be my fourth trek on the Haul Road with a destination of Deadhorse, so I knew what to expect and wanted to prepare the rig for the worse. 

Getting Nestor his Canadian VISA proved to be a challenge, taking three weeks of diligent daily phone calls and paperwork.  On July 29, with VISA in hand, we trailered our two bikes to the condo in northern New Mexico in one day. If we had ridden in the 90+ degree heat and high humidity, it would have taken us two or three days together there.

Early foggy morning in Angel Fire, we tie tight the gear bags, ready to roll north.

Not twenty miles into the first day, we come across cattle who had escaped from pastures, wandering across the road. This is not an open range area. They should not be grazing roadside with vehicles whizzing by.

Rolling north from the town of  Tres Piedras, we leave the high plains of northern New Mexico 

"Hasta La Vista" Baby.... and enter...

...the high plains of south-central Colorado. Pretty uneventful, for sure!

Our destination this day was to reach the home of a old friend, Dom Chang, a URAL rider in the Denver area. 

Dom and his wife Martha had invited us to spend the night in their home.  Yes folks, cross-country motorcycling is a rough tough life.... lol.

Dom grew up in Honduras so he and Nestor had a great time conversing in Spanish. 

Dom took Nestor and I out to his favorite photo spot overlooking the Denver skyline and the Rocky mountains beyond. Unfortunately the haze prevented us from seeing peaks or ridges far in the distance.

This is one of Dom's pride and joy's, a BMW powered URAL sidecar rig. He even allowed me to test ride it. Definitely more power and smoother than the URAL factory engine. 

The next morning Nestor and I visit the famous hole in the rock road north west of Denver.

Crossing into Wyoming we spotted many herds of these creatures...

...the American Pronghorn Antelope. This is one of many firsts for Nestor on this trip.

By nightfall we are in central Wyoming looking for a place to camp. The rest area I had in mind is now posted with "No Overnight Parking" signs.  Moving on...

With a fading light I lead Nestor down a dusty country road, where we pitched camp a couple of yards away from the gravel. The hills will block any highway noise and prevent anyone from seeing where we are or bothering us.  

Only the coyotes were aware of our campsite and made their presence known, 

yipping and howling as we drifted off to sleep.

At the break of dawn we were up and packing. A hot cup of coffee and a granola bars would tide us over till lunch time. 

Many inn and motels in the smaller western towns just never made ends meet, closing without finding a buyer when the owners wanted to retire.  The Tumble Inn in Powder River, WY is one such inn.

In Glen Rock, Wyoming, we meet up with another old friend, Tony DePaul from Rhode Island. Tony rode all the way out west to meet and ride with us for a few days. Tony, Keith Hackett and I met several years earlier while waiting to board the Alaska Maritime Highway ferry in Haines, Alaska. (Remember that name, Keith will reappear later in this story). 

Remaining in touch over the years, Tony and I have even talked about riding South America together. Nestor has now volunteered to guide us when we get down there. Hmmm, sounds like a new ride plan is coming together....

By the time we reach Thermopolis, WY, the idea of camping and then soaking in one of their famous hot springs is an irresistible draw.  Unfortunately the State Park does not allow camping or overnight parking, according to all the posted signs. Drat all those posted signs!

Mulling over our options, I tell the group it is time to reach out to "my people' for a solution.  Riding to the center of downtown Thermopolis, I locate where my people gather....

Inside two sweet little ladies inform me that there is a hot springs RV campgrounds just beyond the town limits where we can pitch our tents and enjoy the thermals.  

Thanking my people for their help, we point our bikes toward the ridge on the north edge of town.

For $15 each at the Fountain of Youth RV Hot Springs Park, we had a large campsite, picnic table, WIFI, showers and a hot springs pool where Nestor and I soaked our aches away while Tony pounded out work on his laptop. 

Nestor, the youngest of the group is retired, me the oldest, semi-retired and Tony in the middle, still working. There is a twenty year spread in our ages from the youngest to the oldest. We all get along, no ego problems, no prima donnas, we all three enjoy experiencing the open road on a motorcycle.

Tomorrow Montana and Canada.

More to come

CCjon