Early to bed, early to rise...

I had been told two days ago that Charlie, the local mechanic with the tow truck, would be at the 16 Mile cabin at 8 a.m. to load up my bike and take it back to town to see if my tire could be repaired. When I left I needed to take all of my things with me because A) I didn't have the cabin rented for a third night and B) If my bike was not repairable a tire would need to be ordered and that could, up here, take days and leave me with no way to come back to pick up my stuff. As a result of this scenario I packed everything the previous night. I even made coffee the night before (there's no such thing as being off the coffee grid) so I could wash the grounds out of the basket. This allowed me to reheat the coffee (I know I just lost all my StarBucks readers) and then pour out what I didn't drink, wash the pot and let it drip dry, ala look Ma, no grid! With no way to charge batteries I had turned off my cell phone on Sunday, thus preserving the battery for emergency functions like an alarm clock on tow-truck-day ( similar to garbage pick up day but you don't have to say hi to the neighbors)!

Plan worked to perfection, even though Charlie was early! Loading the bike ended up being easy. He hooked on to my floor board supports and, as he wound the cable up I stood astride the beast and kept it vertical. Four straps were then used to pull it down tight so it would not be able to tip. I tossed the rest of my gear in the cab and we were off.

As we pulled out of the drive I asked routinely, "How are you this morning?"

"F*%#ing hung over" was the unfiltered reply. That was my first glimpse of who Charlie was. I have been trying not to be judgemental of others, but sometimes you meet the people that establish the baseline for stereotypes. Charlie is all Canadian, and I say that as a compliment. Not one to search for words when a good profane one reaches his tongue first, he chain smokes and spits, has a great sense of humor, can be crude in the proper crowd and would cut off his arm if he thought it would help you. We had an interesting conversation during the 16 mile ride to his shop. He told me enough to allow me to figure out that he had ridden a motorcycle or two, one time through the US and into Mexico, where he was camped by the side of the road and a Mexican trooper stopped.

"What are you doin?" the officer asked as he reached for his gun. Charlie told him he was just camped for the night and he informed Charlie that he had to camp in a campground. Then he noticed Charlie had a spare tire on his bike. 

"What's that? Are you smuggling drugs?" he asked, still with his hand on his gun.

Charlie said it scared the s*%t out of him so he said, "No, I don't even do drugs". Then to clarify his story he tells me "I was F*%#ing lying to him". He didn't tell me though which part of his statement was a lie.

When he backed his truck up into the garage and lowered the ramp I jumped up on the bike to hold it as he released the straps, then sat on it while he took a couple pictures for me to use here.

That's Wally in the corner of the picture. Between him and Charlie they got the bike jacked up, disassembled, tire fixed,

Say aaaah, hey?

back together and AAA, or actually BCA ( the British Columbian affiliate of AAA), picked up the tab! Charlie is about as "Good ol' boy" as they come. 

Having had only a cup of coffee for breakfast I stopped in town to get a bite at my least favorite (but only) eatery. Charlie stopped while I was there and wouldn't even let me pay for his coffee! While I ate I talked to a couple bikers from Ft. Worth, each of whom had a water pump failure on their way to Alaska. The one had another failure so he had called ahead to Smithers, the closest H-D dealer to the south and had a replacement waiting for him. They were tired of riding in the rain with the one guy saying his toes had been freezing for three days!

This morning was definitely a full rain gear kind of day. It was coming down when I left Dease Lake and I don't think it ever let up. The going was slow, the road was rough, and vision was at a premium. It's the combination that just wears on you and by the (approximate) hundred mile mark I was ready to take a break.

I stopped to buy gas (unleaded regular only) and they directed me down the road about 15 kilometers to a place where I could get lunch while taking a break.

I was in Tatogga at a place with interesting displays.

I also had a bison burger with cheese and bacon. It may have been the best hamburger I have ever eaten.

As I sat and ate, I looked out the window at the driving rain. It was only 2 p.m. but I still had at least 200 miles ahead of me to reach my pre-determined stopping point. A quick check of the weather in the area confirmed what I already sensed: the rain had sucked the spirit of adventure right out of me for today. I was back on the grid, back on the road and ready to call it a day.

I had been talking to another solo biker as we ate, going over rain and temperature forecasts and as I went to the window to pay for my meal and get a room, he followed me up. He too had decided he could not handle the cold any more (he had a full rain suit, but was chilled to the bone). So we are in adjacent rooms. His name is Gareh(?), which is Polish for Jerry.

When I returned to the diner for dinner (actually dessert, I was still full of bison) I ran into the two guys from Ft. Worth again. They too had stopped for the night.

Tomorrow promises to be warmer and drier. Everyone keeps saying this is an unusually wet year for this area. I told Gareh that Scott had said, "Come to Alaska in June because you won't get as much rain". From across the diner a lady shouts "he lied to you!"