It was bound to happen sooner or later...

The realist in me probably could have predicted it. The optimist in me may have been in denial. Either way, when you ride a motorcycle over 20,000 miles in a year the pragmatist eventually will win out.

In an ideal world I would have seen before I heard, but that was not the case. Let me explain.

You may have noticed I've been off the grid for a couple days, blog-wise. So as long as I'm stranded in Fairbanks I might as well catch up on that and do it by starting about 48 hours ago.

As I was packing my gear on a brilliantly clear day at Poyo's Thai Kitchen and Spare Bed Emporium Ken, the USAF veteran and owner of the establishment, came over to say goodbye. He made two recommendations, given the laid back nature of my departure and the glorious clarity of the firmament. I had planned to stop 35 miles up the highway at the Denali South View Overlook, but Ken suggested that I ride ten miles in the direction of Talkeetna, along the spur road, to a better overlook, with a better view and take my digital memory from there, then continue into town and eat at The Roadhouse, where the menu is varied and portions are huge. He assured me the turn at the overlook was well marked, which is native Alaskan for "good luck".

Ten miles later I came to a large sign, sitting back in the early morning shadows that read "Denali Overlook Inn" over a logo emblazoned on a large sign. Could this be the promised land? I turned, only to find gravel immediately off the paved highway. Not wanting to try a U-Turn on gravel I continued up the road to the end of a driveway that abutted a grassy promontory, whereupon were seated two guests on chaise lounge chairs enjoying the view. About the same time the owner of the Inn pulled up on a 4X ATV and shut off the engine.

I apologized for interrupting the idyllic setting and explained what I was seeking. The owner assured me I had not interrupted anything, that the overlook was a bit further down the highway, then offered me his view as a better substitute!

Looking northwest from the Talkeetna Spur Road

It turned out the owner is a Harley owner who commutes seasonally between his Talkeetna business and his home in Guadalajara! Now that's a commute! He also recommended The Roadhouse for breakfast so I mentally edited the agenda for the morning and turned north when I pulled back onto the Highway.

Talkeetna proudly proclaims they are a drinking town with a climbing problem!

The Roadhouse is an old establishment that has attracted climbers and tourists alike for 100 years and may have been the establishment that served the fatal case of food poisoning to President Harding in 1923, although I did not attempt to confirm this.

The menu has a wide variety of offerings but, a word of caution:

When ordering, they will not vary from the established menu, i.e. they will not withhold green peppers from your #2. I usually order a ham, swiss and mushroom omelet, and, although all ingredients were available in various other concoctions, they could not be assembled into an omelet.

The seating is family style at any of several large tables. Just find an empty chair and sit down, introducing yourself to your new best friends. In my case that was Jack and Pat from the D.C. area, and Randy and his wife Mary from Bloomington, Ill. (In conversation it was discovered that they were originally from Farmer City and they were amazed that, in the middle of Alaska they would meet someone who knew where Farmer City was!) We had a most enjoyable conversation over breakfast. They were on a Princess Tour, coming down from Fairbanks, then traveling by rail to Anchorage area where they would catch the cruise ship to Prince Somebody (I said I was terrible with names) Island, or maybe Vancouver?

Randy joined the group just after I did. The other three had been waiting for him to return from a Denali Flight-seeing trip around the mountain. He got some amazing photos that he was kind enough to share with me:

Looks exciting, doesn't it Jim and Judy?

As I headed back to the highway I noticed a few more clouds forming in the distance and thought briefly about skipping the South View Overlook, but decided to stop anyway. I'm glad I did as there was an awesome view served up. A nice lady offered to take my picture so I handed over my phone.

I then rode on to Healy, about 12 miles north of Denali N.P., where I refueled both the bike and the body.

From there I continued north through the wonderful Nenana River Valley which rose as high as it dropped.

Another hundred miles or so through the interior of Alaska brought me over a series of gently rolling mountainettes, then down the approach toward Fairbanks.

That's when it happened.

I never saw it coming.

Bang!

Or rather, clunk or some other non-verbal sound. The front end collapsed quickly and effortlessly, bottoming out the shocks in a pot hole of unknown dimensions, ending with a sickening metal to metal thunk, or bang, before continuing on my way. I don't know if this was cause or effect. 2800 miles of Alaska highway, 32,000 miles of cruising, or just one unseen pothole. 

I continued into Fairbanks and picked a non-descript exit to pull off and orient myself to the second largest city in Alaska, a city roughly the size of my hometown, Beloit, Wi. It counts 35,000 people, although adding the "suburbs" ( such as North Pole, Ak), brings Fairbankian bragging rights to about 50,000.

I found a parking lot to pull into and, at slow speed this time, heard the sickening thunk again, this time on a small ripple in the pavement. A quick examination of the bike revealed I had oil dripping onto the back half of the front fender, then blowing up onto the gas tank as well as myself.

I had not been using Navigation because I knew the route to this point. But now I needed to find the Harley Dealer which, it turned out, was just across the highway, 1.5 miles away. In the middle of 663,000 square miles of Alaska, I break down less than 2 miles from a dealer!

That's the good news. The bad news is the Harley dealer doesn't have the parts I need for the repair. The good news is the part had already been ordered (seems I'm not the only soft-tail Fat Boy to hit a pothole in Alaska)! The bad news is the part won't be in until Tuesday afternoon. The good news is, I've got some forced downtime to catch up on my blog and explore Fairbanks. The bad news is I can only ride my bike up to about 15 mph to go anywhere. The good news is not all who explore require an independent means of transportation. The better news is the excitement I had yesterday. The bad news is, I already wrote all of this once and the poor WiFi connection at the Golden North Motel lost it, instead of posting it!

Saturday epilogue:

When I rolled into the H-D dealer just minutes before closing on Saturday I caught the "closing ceremony" of a HOG (Harley Owners Group) rally at the dealership. I stuck my nose under the tent far enough to find Bob and Nancy from the ferry! They had been texting with Chuck and Bobbi and we're trying to meet up with them down the road but apparently Bobbi hadn't thawed out much since I had last seen them in Haines Jct. They were thinking of heading south sooner than later, searching for warmer environs. The weather in the interior is warmer (and periodically drier) than the coastal region, so I hope they can meet up and ride together for awhile.

And the H-D dealer is virtually across the road from my motel room.

Ironically the H-D dealer here also carries Polaris snow machines (they're not snowmobiles in Alaska). Ironic because Polaris is the parent company of Indian Motorcycles, perhaps Harleys biggest competitor.