When Dave and I arrived at Burgdorf Hotsprings on Sept. 28, he announced we were going to stay the night in one of the rustic cabins. I was totally down for that as the original plan was to find a campground down the road and pitch our tent. The nights were starting to get very chilly and there had been talk of a wolf pack in the area that would howl all night. This created some eerie imagery, which a storyteller loves but I could do without wolves sniffing us out. Read more here.
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A couple attempting a two-year round-the-world trip on two F800s
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My right shoulder was becoming an issue on the trip, an old injury that would sear after a long day of trying to keep the bike in position amongst rocks and boulders or just around tight, dusty corners. I drank a beer and took two Tylenol with it. Recommended by doctors world-wide.
Read full story here.
And I had another mission.
I wanted to ride back along the trail just outside of Avery, Idaho where exactly a year ago I’d clipped the boulder that had caused me to break my wrist. I wanted to pee on that boulder.
Another rider came in and took the booth behind us. He told us about a time he’d organized a group ride with 43 bikes down into the U.S. and almost everyone was turned back. Three guys even had their bikes impounded. I began to think they were just victims of the U.S.’s increasingly paranoid hoop-jumping but our Tim Horton’s friend went on to say that part of that group stole a truck later and backed it into the impound yard to retrieve the bikes. Full story here.
We were under the impression vehicles were not allowed in town but once we started walking around, we noticed cars and trucks parked along the streets and in people’s driveways. We figured there must be another road and were left with our curiosity for the moment. For now, we had to solve an immediate problem of hunger. We found The Potato and tucked into a late lunch around 4:00 p.m. then caught a shuttle up to the mine around 5:00 p.m. We were the only two people in the van and I asked the driver how people get their cars over the river. He said resident’s pay about $300/year and get a key that accesses a trunk road bridge downriver. He then said, “But if it fits, you can bring it across the foot bridge.”
Hold up now… so we could ride our bikes across the bridge? Read full story here
Ronetta laughed while Joseph lit the candle and we all took her photo. She seemed very happy and I swallowed a little choke in my throat thinking about this kind woman losing her husband so early in life. She told me later it was hard to see all of us working together with our partners as a team as she had done with her husband but said being around all of us was bringing her and her dogs a lot of joy and helping her heal. Read full post here.
If we hear rain on the tent in the morning upon waking we’re pissed, even if that very same sound lulled us to sleep the night before. It’s nice at night. It sucks in the morning. We have to pack up outside so all our stuff gets wet, the tent never dries out and unlike some road trips, we can’t escape into a warm, dry vehicle and get away from the sogginess. Weather is our travelling companion whether we like it or not. It rides right along with us, clinging to our pants legs and getting all up in our face. We have to accept it even when, on the hottest of days, it never offers to buy us a beer or offers to do the dishes every once in awhile. Full story here...
At various points along our trip it’s been tough on both of us to be right there in a place of the world we’ve long dreamed of being, and have no gear for playing. Our motorcycles are great toys but can only hold so much. Although we are very grateful to experience this trip from the seat of a bike, it does have its limitations when you also love hiking, climbing and ski touring and are in world-class places where you may never get another chance to be again. We felt this about not being able to climb in Patagonia or get to off-the-beaten-path places in the Galapagos Islands.
Testing Out The F800 On The Denali Highway
Blog pull: I stalled the bike and started to go over. My foot skidded out on the rocks. I had to jump off and let it fall. I swore so loud and long that swans on a nearby lake fluttered about frazzled and an old couple standing about ½ mile down the road got into their RV and quickly drove off. In a matter of days I’d have had crash bars and my bike would have been protected. Now it probably had a gaping hole in the plastic or a ding in the tank. I couldn’t look. It was like when you cut yourself chopping vegetables and you’re sure if you look your finger will be detached laying on the cutting board in a pool of blood. Read full story here.
After a series of bad luck spills, break downs and financial distress, I decide to break up with my G650GS and trade it in for a younger, more handsome model with a better body and more endurance. If you know what I'm saying...
Blog pull: After the experience with my bike on the Dalton, I had a big decision to make; do I keep the Frakenbike and put thousands into fixing it up or invest in another bike? There were a few sleepless nights wondering if it was worth it. If I should just fix the 650 and accept its limitations. We had such history together. It had patina. It had, sniff, a very expensive, custom-made seat just for me. Something I couldn’t transfer over to the F800.