FINALLY, ALASKA !!

From Whitehorse up to Haines Junction was fairly uneventful. We stopped a few times to admire the scenery,as per these photos. One tends to see a lot of snow peaked mountains up here, and they are teriffic, but I will try to restrain myself. The wildflowers are just starting to flower, which adds an interesting dimension to the roadside verge. I have already alluded to the infinite number of  trees up here, mainly spruce as we move further north, and I reiterate that, nice as they are, I am getting sick of looking at spruce trees but.

At Haines Junction I tried 2 ATMs and a bank to get some cash, and naturally enough when they consecutively failed to deliver any readies I got extremely annoyed. Meanwhile Roger followed some other guy, who he thought was me, out of town. The net result being that we each rode up to Beaver Creek independently. This was a long but quite spectacular stretch, skirting the very large Kluane Lake, a miniscule portion of which is reproduced below. There had been some severe washaways in this area, and there were some long sections of roadworks. I had a bit of a chat to some of the construction guys, and apparently the problem is when you get the sort of conditions they have had lately, namely rain on top of the snowmelt, it can produce flows of debris, ie mud, rocks and trees, with so much momentum it just bulldozes everything in its path, wrecking embankments and culverts. Again, I admire the persistence of these guys, who just put it back together. The other issue which we are just now beginning to notice, is frost heave. This is the freezing of water in the road base, with the subsequent expansion and lifting of the road surface, and when it finally melts, the road sinks again. To the road user, this is like riding on a roller coaster, but sometimes with long ruts in the direction of travel, that tend to grab the front wheel. In short, you have to watch it or you could go anywhere. A guy and his wife who we met that evening on a Goldwing with a trailer, said he very nearly flipped the lot. (Given the combined weight of his bike, his trailer and in particular his missus, such an outcome would contravene the laws of physics, but I took his point.)

So after a sleepless night spent in Beaver Creek swatting mozzies by the thousand, made all the more restless because it only got dark for about an hour- and if you can see'em, you just have to slap'em- we headed up to the border. This daylight thing is really weird. We are right on the summer solstice, ie the longest day. And they are really long. Bright daylight at 11.30 pm is hard to deal with. You shut the curtains, and it makes no bloody difference.

Anyway, after a few minor formalities at the border, we were back in the US of A as we crossed into Alaska. And all I can say is about bloody time too, it been a tough grind, either cold, wet and/or windy the whole way from Vancouver. And all plans of doing the Dalton Highway long abandoned, unfortunately. Here is where I would have put the triumphant photo of us entering Alaska, if I had taken one. There was a busload of geriatrics hogging the sign, and we didn't want to frighten them, so I'll take a rain check and get it on the way back. So just try to imagine me in front of a sign that says Welcome To Alaska. After continuing on to Fairbanks, which struck me as being a fairly rough sort of a joint, ironically the weather cleared up to the point where it was actually hot. And the mozzies really went berserk! So we decided to then head down to Denali NP, where we were lucky enough to spend a good day in the Park, albeit on a bus, and to get a reasonably good view of Mt McKinley, just before the weather crapped out yet again. Most people on the bus had cameras with lenses the size of bazookas, so the fact that the sparse wildlife was at least a mile away didn't really bother them. All I saw was a few dots on the horizon with my humble camera. We have seen almost virtually no animals since we reached Alaska, after seeing quite a lot in Canada, and we are puzzled by this. Have they all been shot, as I theorised when I saw the gun rack in the Bass Pro shop in Charlotte while buying my camping gear??

Today's ride down to Anchorage was very cold, about10 deg C, but with a severe wind chill. I was uncomfortable the whole day and to top it off, about 20 miles from Anchorage, it started to rain, and it hasn't stopped yet. Nor is it expected to for the next ten days, according to current predictions. Hope they're wrong. We will spend a few days here, and do some day rides in the area, then head  back up to Tok, and go back the way we came in, on the Alaska Highway as far as Haines Junction, then down to Haines to get a ferry to Prince Rupert. We plan a stopover in Juneau, the Capital of Alaska, which paradoxically can only be reached by sea or air. It is a strange place for sure.

I have just clocked up 10,000 miles, and still have a lot of riding ahead to get back to California from up here. My immediate priority is to get the GPS working again. It has an on-board power supply problem, initially I thought it had just blown the fuse, but now we concur there is a short in the fitting that plugs into the back of the unit. So I have ordered a new wiring harness which should be here in a day or two. Thank you Amazon and UPS. Up yours yet again, Garmin.

Here's a few photos taken in the spectacular, awesome Denali National Park. Enjoy!

OK gotta go, its getting dark outside. That means it must be about 3 am.

WEST TO ALASKA?

How do you find Alaska? Just drive north from Vancouver? Sorry, that's not where the roads go. We have now covered some 1700 miles, and are still a good day away from Alaska. We began by heading east, then north east, then north, and today we spent all day riding due west from Watson Lake to get to Whitehorse. We even crossed the state line back into British Columbia (BC) from Yukon.

We crossed a section of road that had been seriously washed out by floodwaters, and was being reinstated. A truckie told us that he had spent 4 days waiting for the road to be reopened. Time is money here, and there is a lot of traffic, particularly trucks, on this road. The crew had recently got the road to the point where traffic could use it temporarily, and were busy building a diversion onto a portable bridge span to allow the reconstruction of the original road and cleaning up the mess when we got there. They had just retrieved an armco steel pipe culvert that had been reconfigured in the washaway, flattened as easily if it were made of cardboard. (I know people who understand that stuff). I though this was an impressive response to a difficult and critical situation, but probably just routine for the people who work in this tough part of the world.

A rest day was called for in Whitehorse. And for a change, we tried a BnB, which was quite pleasant. The weather actually improved as well. It was actually nice to get off the bikes for a while and do some walking around to ease the muscles, and generally relaxing. Whitehorse is a pleasant enough town, with an interesting history, and a fair bit to look at. But its back to work tomorrow, and this time we head north west and should make the border. We have decided that weather forecasts here are nothing more than each way bets. It will be cloudy but with sunny periods. It might rain, it might not, but it probably will. That sort of thing. It couldn't get much worse than what we've had, so we will take it as it comes.

KAMLOOPS AND POINTS NORTH

Funny name, Kamloops. Funny animal, the moose. Check this out.

 So, we have moved on up through the Jasper National Park, and stopped at Hinton, Grande Prairie, Fort Nelson, and have just arrived in Watson Lake. We have put on about 1400 miles since Vancouver, and the strain is starting to show.

It feels like we have been riding through the same forest of pine trees for days. Actually, we have, but there are lots of aspens and firs in there as well. Anyway, its like a green desert if that's not a contradiction in terms. There is a hell of a lot of bugger all except trees. Ok, the occasional lake, and a few mountains here and there. Worried about the destruction of the Amazon rain forest? Well forget it, there are squiilions of trees up here, and we're not even in Alaska yet.

We have gotten rained on regularly, and just spend the day riding with all the wet gear on, rather than even bothering to take it off. What scares me is that the locals are all walking around in shorts and tshirts because its Summer. Excuse me, but I reckon its a cold as a witch's tit, and I'm wearing everything I've got. I have noted that Canadians are not bothered by a bit of rain. They just get out there and get on with it, be it work or play. I guess if its not 40 below and snowing, there's nothing stopping you, so what the hell am I bitching for. Fair enough.

There are lots of other bikers heading the same way, here's a few random shots.

The other weird thing up here is that people just seem to rock into the motels at all hours. The fact that its still broad daylight at 10 pm, and you can still see whats happening at 11 pm, seems to confuse most people. And I'm very easily confused in any case. But I couldn't ride or drive for 18 hours a day, just because I can see.

On the animal log, just today I saw 6 mooses, including a cow with a calf, 5 bears, a herd of buffalos, a flock of geese and had a caribou run across the road in front of me. And did I mention I got wet? Not as wet as Roger though. He squirts water out the top of his boots when he walks. Here we are at the start of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek, and it was fairly bucketing down. Too wet to even pose for the photo. We started wet, and it just got wetter.

Latest news is that a section of the Highway which we will reach in 2 days time is closed due to flood damage, so we are not sure how that will affect us at this stage.

NORTH TO ALASKA

Well, that's the general idea from here. While enjoying Deb and Wes's hospitality, and generally getting things sorted, you know, supermarket, haircut, clean the bike, laundry, weathers forecasts, steak, shiraz, that sort of thing, I was introduced to the Greater Vancouver Motorcycle Club. Roger had been there before, but it was new to me. The club has been going since 1922 (we think!) and has a lot of history, and a lot of members. We were warmly received, and enjoyed a great night. These guys aren't silly. It was raining, and apart from us, pretty much everyone else drove to the meeting in their cars. Glad I spent all day cleaning the bike.

Anyhow, Roger and I decided to head out towards Jasper, which was a bit further east than I had anticipated. However, this gave us the opportunity to see some very scenic countryside, then head up through Grande Prairie, then pick up the road north from Dawson Creek. Apart from that, Roger had been all the other ways before. I had been to Jasper in 1985, but it looks a hell of a lot different now, and so do a lot of the other places I had visited previously. Time doesn't stand still, that's for sure, except maybe in my head. Formerly nondescript towns like Kamloops had a real boomtown air about them. Lots of new infrastructure, shops, houses popping up like mushrooms, fast food outlets, etc. And it all looked like it had been built in the last five years or so. In fact, some of the franchise outlets had already gone bust, and some of the shops were up for sale. This typically suggests that there has been a boom, and now follows the inevitable bust, for some people anyway. In the capitalist system, this is called a correction. In the former communist world, it might have been called a crime against the people, and worth a stretch in the gulags, or worse. An idea not without some merit, given the recent GFC fiasco. But I digress.

Keen to get to the bottom of this economic surge, we made a few inquiries of some of the locals. The bimbo behind the reception desk at the local Super8 motel didn't have a ****ing clue, but that was always a long shot, and Roger is such an optimist. It turns out that in the case of Kamloops anyway, the catalyst was coal. Yes, that dirty, greenhouse gassy, obsolete, out of favour fossil fuel, was in fact being dug up and sold to Japan as fast as it could possibly be got onto the nearest ship. Just like in Australia! And there was me thinking wind and solar was going to save the world and stop climate change from ruining the planet and melting all the glaciers. Not really, given the way snow and ice have buggered up my plans in the last couple of weeks!  But I digress again.

Here's something you don't see every day, and sadly, you're not going to see it anyway, because I forgot to take a photo. Roger and I stopped for lunch in Lytton, where the Fraser River and the Thompson River converge. While standing there watching the waters merging, some guy wandered past collecting discarded bottles and cans, and we gave him scant regard. All of a sudden he starts whooping and hollering, we thought he might have been bitten by something, but it turned out he had just picked up an indian (native) spear tip. There it was, fully intact, about 4 inches long and 1 inch wide, with serrated edges, the real deal, apparently made from stone of some type. He picked it up at the bottom of an earth embankment below a road that had recently been built past the local school. More valuable than any empty can, and good luck to the guy. How about that ?

Moving on to wildlife. And I'm not talking about my visit to Rio de Janiero last year, but I was tempted to do so, just for a bit. There are all sorts of critters that can run out in front of you on the roads around here. In my particular case, the smallest was a squirrel. Didn't scare me a bit,and it did actually cross my path. However, deer are a different proposition, and we have seen heaps of them. I had to brush up on Zoology 101, to distinguish deer from elk and caribou. Moose I can recognise already. Anyway, the point being that they are all bloody big, and I suspect basically stupid where traffic is concerned, and represent potential pain to the average motorcyclist. Today, on the road between Hinton and Grande Prairie, we saw umpteen deer, but the highlight was four moose. (Should that be mooses, or possibly meese? Help me out here.) All worth stopping for, but they are a bit flighty, and tend to bugger off when you try to get in close for a good photo. Fortunately, none of them crossed the road in their buggering off. However, I intend to get a decent photo of one of these comical looking animals before this trip is over. Mother Nature definitely has a sense of humour.

CANADA

After leaving Coeur d'Alene, I crossed into Washington State. It was Sunday morning, and after raining steadily all night, it had finally stopped. and traffic on the I-90W was light. I made good time and skirted Spokane. I was surprised at how large a city it appeared to be, I would say the biggest I had seen since Denver. However, my old nemesis would not leave me alone. The wind had picked up again and made things tough, but at least it wasn't up in dangerous territory. I headed northwards through prosperous looking farm country, which eventually turned into an elevated desert which reminded me of parts of Chile and Bolivia to look at.  Soon after, I went past the Grand Coulee dam, a large hydroelectric scheme, and out through Indian (native) territory. I stopped at the Chief Joseph Memorial, and read about the plight of the Nez Perce indians and their harsh treatment, nay persecution, at the hands of the Government and the army. I first heard of this in Yellowstone, and it caught my interest. I guess there are two sides to every story, but it looked to me like the indians had been systematically dudded by the government, who reneged on treaties, then sent in the army to finish the job. It was not one of the finest moments in American history, but the story of colonisation and displacement of indiginous peoples is a pretty sorry one throughout history. The counrtyside around here is characterised by broken down houses strewn with junk, although the nearby town of Omak looked a bit better, and had a noticeably high proportion of indians in the population.

I pushed on through to the small town of Oroville, just 5 miles short of the Canadian border, and stopped for the night. This region is covered in orchards producing various types of fruit, and looked pretty good. Crossing the border next morning could not have been much easier. I made it harder than it might have been by looking around for someone to tell that I was planning on leaving the US. It appeared that nobody gave a rats, but I'm still glad I made sure before proceeding direct to the Canadian side. A few simple questions, was I carrying firearms, pepper spray, alcohol, tobacco, etc. No, no no, no, yuddah, yuddah. The one I was waiting for was fruit. That would have got a yes, so my one remaining banana and I crossed into Canada. I should add that I was prepared to ritually eat it on the spot rather than hand it over alive. But it never came to that.

Step one, get some money. Into the first servo I see, and straight to the ATM. After playing with the thing for about 5 minutes, to no avail, I ask for assistance. "Oh, its not working", said the dill behind the counter, the one that had been watching me for the last 5 minutes. Not much happens in Osoyoos. Across the road to another servo ATM, this time it went much better right up to the bit where its supposed to spit the money out, and I get a message Unauthorised Transaction, Contact Your Bank on the screen. I'm two for two. Good start. I had enough gas to get to the next town, where I was able to use a drive in ATM at a bank, and finally got some cash. Proper looking money and all, plastic notes just like ours, and with a picture of Her Majesty on it! That must get right up the noses of the French part of the country, which must be a good thing.


A few hours later, after some very nice bends on the road between Princeton and Hope, I saw my first bear, running along in a ditch beside the road. I slowed, not sure what it was going to do, so I got a good look at it, and passed it without incident. It did slow me down a bit. Not long after, I found my way straight to the abode of Wes and Deb Jamison, where I was to meet up with Roger Knapp. They had left me a note on the front door, saying they had gone to Seattle and would be back by 8 pm. I looked at my watch. 3 pm. Oh good. I stretched out on the front porch with my riding jacket for a pillow and went straight to sleep. No point rushing these things.

IDAHO ??

What the hell am I doing back in Idaho, the State famous for its potatoes?? Well, as much as I love a good spud, that's not why I find myself here. Even the best laid plans....etc.  I left West Yellowstone yesterday morning with every intention of getting up to Glacier NP. As expected, the weather had turned to crap after the previous days teasing perfection. So I headed off on the less spectacular low road, the US287, thinking there was a better chance of  not getting snowed on, or risking ice on the road, if I kept to lower elevations. And I was right. Within about 20 miles, it was bucketing with rain instead. Fortunately, it didn't last long. Long enough to scare the bejesus out of me though. There was a semi heading my way, with a double trailer behind, and an identical semi right behind him, and they were fairly moving. I could see they were kicking up a big spray. When I hit it, I was totally blind for about 4 seconds I guess, although it felt a lot longer. Mental note: don't do that again.

On I went, and my chosen route wasn't really a consolation prize scenery wise. Montana has a very spectacular landscape, with sweeping vistas of mountains, lakes, rivers, forests, good looking farming country in the valleys. A sheer joy to behold, I reckon. Eventually I finished up in Missoula, MT (the home of Moose Drool, as luck would have it!), and managing to stay off the Interstates, except for a short stretch of the I-15. The last 40 miles or so before Missoula, the wind had picked up again, there were rain squalls and it was unpleasant riding. The helmet battering I got from the swirly wind gusts, and the freezing temperature, about 40deg F/4deg C, had given me a splitting headache and very sore neck. I was glad to get there. Later on, I checked the road conditions up in Glacier. The main road through the park was closed due to snow in the higher elevations, although short sections at each end were still open. Dammit! Not much point heading up there. The weather forecast between Missoula and Vancouver suggested a window of two clear days, at the not unreasonable price of a bit more rain today. It was a no-brainer, really, so I headed for Spokane WA, about 200 miles west, the quickest way possible, on the I-90, and with any luck, I might even beat the rain.

Yeah, well I didn't. It was ok for the first 120 miles or so, then it dumped on me again, very heavily. This section of I-90 is not in good condition, and large sections are being rehabilitated.. On the remainder, there are heaps of big cracks running in all directions, tricky enough in the dry, but bad news in the wet. Worse, in the right hand lane where the trucks drive, the tyre tracks had polished the surface as smooth as glass, and I recalled a nasty experience I had in similar conditions last year in Australia. Nobody else seemed to be worrying about anything, and I had heaps of cars and pickup trucks belting past me at around 80 mph. So much for adjusting one's driving to the conditions. These guys were racing to see who gets to the morgue first. I decided this was just not worth the risk, and bailed out at Coeur D'Alene ID, about 30 miles short of Spokane. I headed to the first motel I saw after the off ramp, and dripped on their floor while being told I was too early to check in. By the time I had left a sizeable puddle in their lobby, they found a room for me anyway. I was a bit cold, but surprisingly dry under the wet weather gear. I had a bit of water run down my arms and into the gloves, and felt a slight trickle down the back of my neck, but that was about all. Full marks to the BMW Rainlock suit, Atlantis gloves and the Santiago boots, and of course Mr Goretex. They have been severely tested again and again, and have not been found wanting. But I knew that. Anyway, that's a couple of  hours of my life I don't want back. Those Interstates are bloody scary places at the best of times, and suicidal in the wet.

Coeur D'Alene. Strange name that. My school French recognised (amazingly) that coeur means heart, but after that, I had nothing. Wikipedia tells us that alene means awl, as in a sewing or bootmaking device. Apparently the French Canadian fur trappers who first did business with the local indians (native) reckoned that they had hearts as hard as an awl, the implication being that they were shrewd businessmen. Nice story, don't know if its true. But it suggests to me it was the indians who were doing all the trapping, and the French taking all the credit. Some things never change!

WYOMING TO MONTANA

Well, I've discovered one thing, which when you think about it should have been bleeding obvious right from the start, and that is that rodeos are smelly affairs. But that aside, there is a rodeo on every single night in Cody over the summer. The rodeo capital of the WORLD, that's what the signs say. Ok, there's the usual bit of hyperbolae I've come to expect. Those guys that run rodeos in Cameroon and Iceland must be really pissed. And don't let the use of the word" summer" lull you into the conclusion that the weather here might be in any way warm or hot. Its bloody freezing. Nevertheless, the rodeo must go on. A lot of what took place involved younger guys and gals riding horses and lassoing cattle against the clock, and they didn't always succeed. But that's called learning the trade. The bucking broncos were pretty exciting, and the riders more often than not hit the ground hard enough to make me flinch, and I was miles away in the safety of the stand. But for sheer cohunas, you can't beat the guys who try to ride bulls. That's right up there with riding sidecars at the speedway or being a crash test dummy. The only people who take bigger risks are the rodeo clowns, and a couple of them got a decent serve and all. Like being rammed by a fork lift at thirty miles an hour, then being pushed over a cliff.

I also spent a very interesting afternoon in the Buffalo Bill Historical Centre, which is really first class. Buffalo Bill was, if not the most famous cowboy of all time, certainly the guy that did the most to earn the title, and his exploits are documented in great detail in this terrific display. The only problem was I kept wondering why Billy Connolly kept getting in on the act. There is a distinct physical resemblance between the two, and actually, I reckon Billy would have enjoyed spending a few hours in there as much as I did.

From Cody, I headed up to Red Lodge, Montana, again on the advice of Australian Road Rider, and from there into the Bear Tooth Pass. Lucky for me, the weather was perfect. This is just a terrific bike road, but one that demands respect. In the lower sections, there were a lot of loose rocks on the road, including some whoppers about football size and larger, and more than once, I hit smaller rocks with the front tyre that I didn't even see. The thought occurred to me that you would be unlucky, but nevertheless it was possible to have some serious real estate dropped on you from above at any moment. And towards the top, there are no safety barriers and some seriously long and presumably fatal drops. In fact, there was some sort of mishap while I was ascending the pass. Several emergency vehicles passed me, lights flashing and sirens wailing, on the way to the pass. I eventually saw them again near the top, but was unable to determine the nature of the emergency, it may have been something to do with skiers. Fortunately, no bikers involved this time, and especially not me.

Bear Tooth Pass.  There you go, that's the road up, way down there, twice. Very speccy indeed.

Was it cold? Well what do you think? That white stuff isn't Kleenex.


From here I worked my way down via Cooke City (City? hah!) into Yellowstone, entering at the not quite so popular north east entrance. Just before the Park entry, I passed a buffalo out on the road, grazing at the verge. When I got to the entry, I informed the lady Ranger that it appeared one of their buffalos had done a runner. She replied, "Oh, that's Jeffery, we know about him." I had just seen Jeffery the buffalo, clearly a serial escapist. Not sure how Jeffery got across the cattle grid, I was lucky to get across it myself. But I was soon to see many more of Jeffery's extended family, although they remain anonymous, at least to me.

Say hello to the people, Jeffery.  Jeffery? Is that you? Oh, Sorry Albert.

From here I just followed the road through to Mammoth Hot Springs, then across to West Yellowstone, which is just outside the Park, and its also in Montana, but only just, if you check the map carefully. The plan was to go from here back through the Park, and down to Jackson, via the Grand Teton NP, just for a squizz, then back to West Yellowstone. I awoke next morning to a car park covered in snow. Oops. But being a true 1 percenter,  I headed into the Park anyway, amid flurries of snow. I have to say, riding in snow was a new experience for me, and at my age, any new experience is to be savoured. Obviously, it was bloody cold, but it was strangely dry, and heaps better than getting rained on. I appeared to be adequately rugged up, although my fingertips were cold/numb even though I had the grip heaters on max. I was a bit concerned at the computer display that kept flashing at me from the instrument panel. It does that when the temperature drops below 37 deg C, to warn of possible ice on the road. Now that I was worried about, since ice = crash. I made it as far as Old Faithful, which I was determined to see no matter what, but then I retreated to the warmth of my motel, followed by the warmth of the local bar and pizzeria, the Wild West.   (Strange combination I know, but it worked for me.)

The following morning, my schedule required me to head north with great haste, but it was an absolutely clear blue sky out there. After a bit of haggling with the dragon that ran the motel, I decided to stay an extra day in West Yellowstone, and ride down to Jackson anyway. It was absolutely perfect weather, and I did a lazy 300 mile loop through the Park and down past the Grand Tetons, to Jackson. Not a bad effort for a day off. I had a superb view of the Tetons, and again, pointing a camera at something like this just doesn't seem to work, even though there is an urgent compulsion to do so, just like everybody else. But anyway, this is basically it, and spectacular it surely is. l could have taken more photos, but I couldn't be bothered stopping. Sad but true.

 The Tetons, from the more popular eastern (Wyoming ) side.

Rather than cruise straight back the way I had come, as there was a bit of traffic about, I headed off  through the Teton Pass, and into Idaho, then headed north back to Yellowstone. This turned out to be a master stroke, as I went through some of the best farm country I have seen anywhere, followed by some beautiful forests, and with absolutely no other traffic, until I got back onto US 20, and back to the place I had come to call home (since yesterday), the Wild West bar.  Alright Melissa, if you insist, I'll have another Moose Drool. And not a bad drop at that! I'm not sure what to make of Idaho. Based on the few hours I spent there, it was heaven on a stick, but then I noticed the vehicle number plates. Any State that puts the words     " Famous Potatoes" on its number plates needs to get a life, I reckon. But then again, America must have its French fries, lest it grind to a halt.

This is the Tetons, in the background, taken from the less popular Idaho side. Trust me to go the extra mile for my faithful readers.

I can't help thinking that the weather gods will exact a heavy toll on the guy that stole an entire day. I feel that there will be due retribution required at some point in the not too distant for this unexpected pleasure. Time will tell. From here I head north to Glacier NP, then across to Vancouver. Bring it on.

WYOMING and SOUTH DAKOTA

Well Howdy Pardners, I've been a bit busy riding lately, so let me bring you up to speed. Boy, those new tyres make a difference. I could feel it as soon as I rode away from the Dealership. Bye bye Bridgestone, (stick to making tyres for taxis), hello again Metzeler Tourance, XXXX. Speaking of kisses, I headed off from Loveland on the Interstate, and within an hour I was rolling through Cheyenne, the capital of Wyoming. I had no intention of stopping, and it looked like the biggest building in town was City Hall, a very low rise capital city it seems. I guess no one worries too much about what happens in Wyoming, a bit like South Australia really. But do people ever stop and wonder where their hamburgers and steaks come from?? So far, I am yet to see any Indians (subcontinental) in Wyoming, what happens to cows around here must be too traumatic for Hindus.

I was heading for Hot Springs, South Dakota, my jumping off point for the Black Hills. The scenery soon changed to rolling prairies covered in short grass. I don't know whether the cows keep it short, or the wind pushes it over, or if it stops growing all by itself, but there is a hell of a lot of it in Wyoming, and the wind was picking up again. I am really getting sick of the bloody wind, and it seems to pick up some real speed in the afternoon, then die down in the evening. I don't know if it seasonal, or related to the terrain, or what, but it makes riding distinctly unpleasant, not that I'm complaining. Alright, a bit. Here's something you don't see everyday in Australia. Nothing like having your own oil well down on the farm, to supplement the income when beef prices are down, which is .... never. There are quite a few of these dotting the landscape, they remind me of large birds, pterodactyls if you must know, pecking away rhythmically at the landscape. Weird.

So, after being blasted by the afternoon winds yet again as I rode through more of the unremarkable terrain of south east Wyoming, I crossed into South Dakota. All of a sudden, it got hillier, the hills were pointier, and often flanked by pine trees. It looked like a giant park, and was altogether an exceedingly pleasant visual spectacle. And I liked it as well.

 I found my motel without any trouble, and got the usual head wobbling greeting from the Indian (subcontinental) behind the desk, who only had to ask me my name four times before I wrote it down for him, tersely I might add, in LARGE letters on a bit of paper, while simultaneously pointing to my name on his computer screen. I'll jump the counter and throttle one of the bastards before this trip is over, I swear.

And speaking of Indians, a quick walk around town and a visit to the supermarket turned up an interesting demographic fact. At first I thought there were a lot of Mexicans in town, but no, they were actually Indians (Native), the biggest concentration I have seen so far. None of them looked particularly happy, or particularly busy for that matter, quite a few of them were clearly drunk, and that didn't stop them getting into their beaten up old cars and driving somewhere, usually at 20 mph. In the supermarket car park, an Indian (Native) guy dropped something while loading groceries into the boot of his car. I picked it up and handed it back to him, and he didn't say a word. Well, the world needs ditch diggers too, pal, but I suspect even that would be too highly skilled for you. By the way, nice country you had. Nothing to do with me, I'm just passing through.

Hot Springs looked like a nice town, with some interesting and substantial buildings, but had clearly fallen on hard times. Quite a few businesses closed up, lots of for sale signs, and I suspect, very few takers. Except perhaps the Indians (subcontinental), who must reckon all their birthdays have come at once in this country.

Pretty soon I was rolling northward, the weather was just perfect, and I reached Custer State Park, where my National Parks Pass wasn't worth diddley squat. Ten bucks later I was stopped at a herd of buffalo, wondering which one of the big, cantankerous bastards was going to kill me first. Probably this one.

Or possibly any of these, take your pick. Eventually I figured if they're busy eating, they were too preoccupied to gore me to death, so I snuck past, but quickly and quietly.

So I survived my first encounter, and the boost to my confidence was immense. I spent quite a while just criss crossing the magnificent landscape of the park, just taking it all in, it really was superb. Here's the stretch through The Needles, not hard to work out how they got the name. Possibly more phallic than needle like, I thought, but let's leave Freud out of it. Rest assured if this was in Australia, it would be an Aboriginal scared site quicker than you could say "Mineral Rights".

I then headed north to check out Mt Rushmore. A bit more splendid scenery on great bike riding roads had me within sight of said mountain. From a few miles away, it looked just like the photos. No surprises there.  As I got closer, it became apparent that one has to actually pay to get much closer. Yeah, well I've already seen it, I said to the guy collecting the money, as I made a quick U-turn. This process was repeated a few miles down the road at the Crazy Horse carving, which isn't even finished, still they want people to pay! Well, I didn't want to see either of the things that badly.

I spent quite a while musing over the whole thing. Is it legitimate art to carve something on that scale into an otherwise pristine hillside, or is it environmental vandalism? Let alone charge people to see it. But call it a National Memorial and that makes it ok? There was no shortage of punters lining up to pay the entry fee, so does that make it right? What if it was a carving of a giant buffalo's arse, and its (admittedly impressive) genitalia? I wrestled with this deep philosophical argument while I tried to regain my composure. There are  millions of hills, whos going to mind if we just bugger up one of them in the middle of nowhere, in the name of patriotism? Yes, but its so subjective. I happen to like buffalos, why can't I carve a huge buffalo butt on a butte somewhere? What about building a road through the hills (or building anything anywhere, for that matter), tell me that's not eco-raping ? Yes, but we need roads, and so it goes on ad infinitum. Look, what about a quarry? Nobody minds if we wreck a perfectly good hill just to get at the rock, so we can crush it to make pre-stressed concrete bridges and garden gnomes, and other such essentials. So you could actually think of Mt. Rushmore as just another rock quarry, only this time they just took away all the bits that didn't look like a President. Maybe the Indians (native) have the right idea after all, just give up and stay pissed.

Look, here's how I reconciled the whole argument. Here's how I reconcile most things, if you haven't already realised. When in doubt, lampoon! On the way out of Mt Rushmore, I stopped where I wasn't supposed to stop, and took this seldom seen shot of George Washington's profile.

OK, here's a better look.

I reckon it looks less like George and a hell of a lot more like a shot of  The Phantom * standing guard over the entrance to the fabulous Skull Cave in the Deep Woods. Am I right, or am I right?

 * The Ghost Who Walks, Man Who Cannot Die.

I proceeded further westward, cruising through Custer before crossing back into Wyoming, and sought my evenings lodging in the famous town of Sundance, of Film Festival fame. Yes, there is a statue of Harry Longbaugh in the main street. That's the original Sundance Kid, FYI. There is a lot of history around these parts, no doubt about that, and it really is very interesting. Just as well, because there's bugger all else in Sundance, and I don't blame Harry one little bit for moving to Bolivia. I knew I should have stayed in Custer, but there you go. I did actually see two deer in the main street last night. Neat, but for some reason this failed to make as memorable an impression as the time I was in the front bar of the Camooweal pub in outback Queensland, and an emu stuck its head through the window. (On a stack of Bibles, this is true). This very morning, I headed straight for the Devils Tower, the prominent geological feature in the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind. You remember, this thing! You probably won't believe me, but I always suspected this thing was a volcanic intrusion, and so it is.

There was actually some dickhead climbing the thing this morning. I waited as long as I could for the guy to plummet to his death, but I'm a busy man and I couldn't just hang around all day. So it was push west with all haste, as the weather was good, and I wanted to get off those bloody wide open prairies before the wind sprung up to blow me backwards. I could see the Big Horn Mountain range looming in the distance, with clouds massing above, and I knew I had to get across it asap.

My route took me through the Granite Pass, at 9000 ft, not the biggest I have encountered, but some guys I met at the Tower had just come the other way the day before, and had really copped a hammering in a hail storm, so I was a bit apprehensive. It turned out to be a superb ride, cold at the top, but a great road on the way up, perfect road surface, no wind and almost no traffic. If there's one thing I like more than the pure serenity of the mountains, its the howl of the exhaust note of the F650GS as you crack it open in the middle gears, especially with a new set of Tourances. Yahoo! A bit of a rough surface on the way down, and more of those "tar snakes", which I have already learned to hate with a passion, then I'm back on the plains and its hot again! Only these plains looked distinctly drier than on the other side of the Ranges, so I'm buggered if I can work out the geography around here. My intended destination of Cody is pretty much booked out, so I am staying about 50 miles short in the oddly named town of Greybull, no relation to Betty, for the night, and will head to the Yellowstone region tomorrow. Might even catch a rodeo in Cody, named after Buffalo Bill for anyone not born before 1960, it appears the thing to do around these parts.