Hardly an original title, but here I am in Seattle. Not that I'm trying to sleep. Home of Bill Gates, Boeing, Nirvana, and umpteen million other entities. I crossed back into the US this morning after spending a couple of night's at Wes and Deb Jamison's place in Vancouver. The fairly long run down from Prince Rupert took me two and a half days. Fortunately the weather was beautiful, and had me thinking that this was about the time Roger and I should have started the trip to Alaska, not be wrapping it up. That's life- a series of random disasters compounded by bad planning. Anyway, Roger's bike died in Haines, but we carried the corpse down to Prince Rupert on the ferry. Roger was thinking he should have buried both himself and the bike at sea, but decided to take it back to Port Hardy on Victoria Island, where he would have more options for its disposal. However, a visit to the local tyre dealership of all places, and a couple of phone calls later, he sold it to a local for a lazy $1k. Problem Solvered. So he got on the ferry, and I rode down to Vancouver. Hope I get that lucky when I sell mine!
I decided to return to Vancouver via Whistler, and then down the coast and into town from the north/west. Nice scenic ride, but then I hit town at rush hour. Never mind, stay on the freeways and zoom, straight through to Wes's place on the east side of town, according to both the map and the GPS. I got a good look at the place, and was able to take in it's size. Its a big city for sure. What I didn't know was that there is a massive road upgrading project under way, and I got a real good look at that as I crawled through mile after mile of it in first and second gear, in bumper to bumper traffic. Bugger!
After a full day devoted to the mundane activities of laundry, bike cleaning and posting some excess luggage home, I got away early this morning. There are multiple border crossings in the Vancouver area, and fortunately there are a couple quite close to Wes's place. Within 10 minutes I arrived at one of them, and got straight through in no time flat. I'm getting pretty good at this now, but noticed the Immigration guy seemed perplexed to find an Aussie on a US registered bike entering the US from Canada. All too hard, and he just handed my passport back without another word. That US Visa really solves a lot of problems. It means I've jumped through all the right hoops to get it in the first place, and nobody else is going to bother about anything else too much. And having a vehicle makes no difference whatever. Nobody cares! On the way to the border post, I noticed a US Border Protection vehicle parked prominently in the open farmland along the border to arrest any cagey Mexicans who might try to sneak in the back door from Canada. Well, who else do they want to keep out?
Before I could face the I-5, I needed sustenance so I stopped for a quick bite and a coffee at a Maccas. 9 am and it was about half full. I really enjoyed my bacon and egg McMuffin and their version of latte. Its just so easy and its cheap. Danger signs here. I'm really getting worried now. I think I'm getting hooked, and I must be morphing into some sort of quasi Yank. Help!!
So, out onto the infamous I-5 for the high speed thrust and parry of commuting American style. So far, so good. About twenty miles later, I felt the first drops of rain. Dammit all, just after I cleaned the bloody bike in Wes's driveway, ......again!! I'm two for two on that one. A quick detour to put on the wet gear I had optimistically packed away at the bottom of the panniers after the recent bout of sunshine, and soon I was sitting in four lanes of traffic at 75-80 mph, surrounded by trucks, and it was belting down. This is not fun. Wet road, trucks kicking up a blinding spray, visibility down to about 60 yards, massive vehicles sitting right up my clacker at those speeds. Everytime I eased back a bit to allow a reasonable gap in front of me for my own self preservation, some macho tosser in an adjoining lane took this as a sign of weakness, and dropped into the hole, thus potentially shortening their journey time by a valuable microsecond. This is just insanity, so maybe I'm not really ready to become a Septic just yet, or perhaps this death-wish driving only happens in the tertiary stages of the metamorphosis. First they get you hooked on the food.
By some miracle, I survived again, and soon arrived at Ride West BMW by mid morning, and delivered my again less than pristine bike into the hands of the people who breathe new life into tired machines. Nicely set up dealership, I thought, with the emphasis on adventure riding. There is plenty of scope for that kind of fun in Washington State, and it has to be much less traumatic than riding the freeways. So I got a full service, plus an annual inspection, plus a new front tyre, plus a new set of - and get this- rear brake pads. There was enough left on the front pads for me to keep them a bit longer, but that's an indication of how foul the road conditions have been on this trip. Lots and lots of "better not grab too much front brake" riding. And it shot a big hole in the Mastercard. And I'm giving all this to some lucky buyer! No one thought this would be a cheap exercise, especially me.
Anyway, while drinking lots of freebie coffee and reading a few magazines in the well appointed customer relaxation area, mostly about adventure riding, I had a bit of a trip down memory lane. First thing I saw was an advert for Compass Expeditions, featuring a photo of the familiar Parachilna pub in northern South Oz. Compass are trying hard to get Septics to get on over to Oz for a taste of the outback. Is it dry enough yet?? Next I read an article about a Pommy husband and wife team who were riding through Iran. Not a bad article either, and it brought a lot of great memories flooding back. Particularly when they mentioned how hot it was (answer: unfkgblievbly), the drama of riding with armed escorts, and the ironic hassles of getting petrol, and the fact that they stayed at Akbar's guest house in Bam, just as Chris and I did in 08. My own experiences in Iran may be found further back in this very blog, if you can be bothered, and I wondered how Mr Akbar is getting along. A wonderful, warm and generous man, like many others we met in Iran. And like many I have met on this current trip.
So here I am in a slightly sleazy motel on a very busy road in the little known " Crash Repair Shop and Wrecking Yard" District of Seattle. You won't find that in any guide books, so don't bother looking, but I've been in worse places. Chugging on a coldie, and reminiscing about the people I've met, the places I've been and the experiences, good and bad, that I've had in the last few years, since I got into the adventure riding thing. You know what? The world looks pretty bloody good from the seat of a motorcycle, no doubt about that, even if things don't always go to plan. And I reckon that's the essential point about any adventure- fate always intervenes. I wouldn't swap those experiences for anything.
I decided to return to Vancouver via Whistler, and then down the coast and into town from the north/west. Nice scenic ride, but then I hit town at rush hour. Never mind, stay on the freeways and zoom, straight through to Wes's place on the east side of town, according to both the map and the GPS. I got a good look at the place, and was able to take in it's size. Its a big city for sure. What I didn't know was that there is a massive road upgrading project under way, and I got a real good look at that as I crawled through mile after mile of it in first and second gear, in bumper to bumper traffic. Bugger!
After a full day devoted to the mundane activities of laundry, bike cleaning and posting some excess luggage home, I got away early this morning. There are multiple border crossings in the Vancouver area, and fortunately there are a couple quite close to Wes's place. Within 10 minutes I arrived at one of them, and got straight through in no time flat. I'm getting pretty good at this now, but noticed the Immigration guy seemed perplexed to find an Aussie on a US registered bike entering the US from Canada. All too hard, and he just handed my passport back without another word. That US Visa really solves a lot of problems. It means I've jumped through all the right hoops to get it in the first place, and nobody else is going to bother about anything else too much. And having a vehicle makes no difference whatever. Nobody cares! On the way to the border post, I noticed a US Border Protection vehicle parked prominently in the open farmland along the border to arrest any cagey Mexicans who might try to sneak in the back door from Canada. Well, who else do they want to keep out?
Before I could face the I-5, I needed sustenance so I stopped for a quick bite and a coffee at a Maccas. 9 am and it was about half full. I really enjoyed my bacon and egg McMuffin and their version of latte. Its just so easy and its cheap. Danger signs here. I'm really getting worried now. I think I'm getting hooked, and I must be morphing into some sort of quasi Yank. Help!!
So, out onto the infamous I-5 for the high speed thrust and parry of commuting American style. So far, so good. About twenty miles later, I felt the first drops of rain. Dammit all, just after I cleaned the bloody bike in Wes's driveway, ......again!! I'm two for two on that one. A quick detour to put on the wet gear I had optimistically packed away at the bottom of the panniers after the recent bout of sunshine, and soon I was sitting in four lanes of traffic at 75-80 mph, surrounded by trucks, and it was belting down. This is not fun. Wet road, trucks kicking up a blinding spray, visibility down to about 60 yards, massive vehicles sitting right up my clacker at those speeds. Everytime I eased back a bit to allow a reasonable gap in front of me for my own self preservation, some macho tosser in an adjoining lane took this as a sign of weakness, and dropped into the hole, thus potentially shortening their journey time by a valuable microsecond. This is just insanity, so maybe I'm not really ready to become a Septic just yet, or perhaps this death-wish driving only happens in the tertiary stages of the metamorphosis. First they get you hooked on the food.
By some miracle, I survived again, and soon arrived at Ride West BMW by mid morning, and delivered my again less than pristine bike into the hands of the people who breathe new life into tired machines. Nicely set up dealership, I thought, with the emphasis on adventure riding. There is plenty of scope for that kind of fun in Washington State, and it has to be much less traumatic than riding the freeways. So I got a full service, plus an annual inspection, plus a new front tyre, plus a new set of - and get this- rear brake pads. There was enough left on the front pads for me to keep them a bit longer, but that's an indication of how foul the road conditions have been on this trip. Lots and lots of "better not grab too much front brake" riding. And it shot a big hole in the Mastercard. And I'm giving all this to some lucky buyer! No one thought this would be a cheap exercise, especially me.
Anyway, while drinking lots of freebie coffee and reading a few magazines in the well appointed customer relaxation area, mostly about adventure riding, I had a bit of a trip down memory lane. First thing I saw was an advert for Compass Expeditions, featuring a photo of the familiar Parachilna pub in northern South Oz. Compass are trying hard to get Septics to get on over to Oz for a taste of the outback. Is it dry enough yet?? Next I read an article about a Pommy husband and wife team who were riding through Iran. Not a bad article either, and it brought a lot of great memories flooding back. Particularly when they mentioned how hot it was (answer: unfkgblievbly), the drama of riding with armed escorts, and the ironic hassles of getting petrol, and the fact that they stayed at Akbar's guest house in Bam, just as Chris and I did in 08. My own experiences in Iran may be found further back in this very blog, if you can be bothered, and I wondered how Mr Akbar is getting along. A wonderful, warm and generous man, like many others we met in Iran. And like many I have met on this current trip.
So here I am in a slightly sleazy motel on a very busy road in the little known " Crash Repair Shop and Wrecking Yard" District of Seattle. You won't find that in any guide books, so don't bother looking, but I've been in worse places. Chugging on a coldie, and reminiscing about the people I've met, the places I've been and the experiences, good and bad, that I've had in the last few years, since I got into the adventure riding thing. You know what? The world looks pretty bloody good from the seat of a motorcycle, no doubt about that, even if things don't always go to plan. And I reckon that's the essential point about any adventure- fate always intervenes. I wouldn't swap those experiences for anything.
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