June 30th – Kelowna, BC (BST -7hrs)

Wine tasting and motorcycling are not ideal bed partners, to say the least. Still it did seem a shame not to explore some of the area’s vineyards, some of British Columbia’s best, even if only for the sake of a day out. So, on the recommendation of the good folk at SWMotorrad, we hopped on John’s Triumph and rode almost three-quarters of the way round Okanagan Lake to the Naramata Bench wineries, in search of lunch and, perhaps, a small glass of wine. Naramata Bench - a dozen or more wineries perched on the eastern shore of Okanagan Lake

This area is extraordinary. Here we are, in BC’s own “lake district”, little more than a stone’s throw from the Rocky Mountains, where road signs on the highway warn of winter conditions at any time of year, and yet we are essentially in the desert. And, despite the lakeside location, there is even a water shortage here.

Kelowna’s new ‘floating’ bridgeOkanagan Lake is about 85 miles long and, in places, up to 1000ft deep. So deep, in fact, that a large span of the 5-lane highway bridge is built on floating pontoons. All around the lake, the valley rises steeply towards the Okanagan Highlands’ main ski areas. For the most part, the partially forested hillsides are brown and arid. But, for over a century, the lake water has provided irrigation for a booming fruit industry. Naramata Bench vineyardsMore recently, amongst the patchwork of orchards, vineyards and lavendar fields have appeared, creating the illusion of Provence in the Canadian heartland.

We had a delicious two-course lunch at the Lake Breeze winery. Not daring get stuck into a whole bottle of wine, we chose a glass each of red: meaty ‘Tempest’ for John and a spicy Merlot for me. Red wines are fairly new to the region, but BC whites have been winning awards for many years. Lake Breeze Winery - a touch of Provence in CanadaSince we have a fridge in our motel room, we also bought a bottle of their Pinot Gris … to enjoy later.

It had gone 5pm when we got back to SWMotorrad to pick up my, now pristine, bike. The parts, including two new rubber boots, a shaft seal, swingarm bearings and a litre of gearbox oil, came to $328. Expensive, but a fraction of the cost of a new final drive. The oil alone cost $56. Luckily, it doesn’t have to be replaced that often. The bike’s designers apparently neglected to provide a drain plug for the gearbox. So if you want to drain the oil, you have to turn it upside-down and use the filler cap … I wonder how many steins of pilsner went down before someone came up with that bright idea!

June 29th – Kelowna, BC (BST -7hrs)

As you might expect, we were on the doorstep of SWMotorrad as they opened this morning. I confess my bike was in a shocking state. We had been caught in a hailstorm in the middle of some road construction on the way up to Williams Lake and, in comparison with John’s relatively clean Triumph, the 1200 looked as though I had been doing some serious trail riding. Perhaps BMW deliberately design them to attract dirt that way, to give unadventurous commuters a little street cred. Anyway, the bike was going to need a good rinse before any work could start and I could either do it myself at the car wash a couple of blocks down, or pay the dealer to give it a valet job. John and I went for breakfast …

Winding on an hour or so, the bike was up on the bench, minus its rear wheel, and a technician was examining the thick brown gloop that was coating the drive shaft inside the swingarm. He shone a torch into the void so that we could see where water was getting in. The issue, as it turned out, was not nearly so serious as to require replacement of the final drive. Although the shaft was visibly corroded, its function had not been compromised. In cleaning out the muck from the swingarm, the Portland dealer had treated the symptoms but not the cause, which was odd as, with the bike up on the bench, it didn’t take a trained technician to diagnose the problem. The rubber boot that covers the joint between the gearbox and the shaft was perished, and so was allowing water and dirt into the swingarm every time it rained. It was this emulsified mixture of oil and water that I had seen leaking out over the wheel rim in Williams Lake – nothing to do with a damaged final drive at all. Even so, I now face the prospect of being endlessly ribbed by John. After all, isn’t this the bike that is supposedly built to go anywhere, stopped in its tracks by a leaky pair of wellies? The technician shrugged. “We see this occasionally”, he said, “We call them Oktoberfest bikes.”

The parts were relatively inexpensive and would be in tomorrow, so we could start making contingency plans to salvage the rest of our trip.

June 28th – Kelowna, BC (BST -7hrs)

Why do these things always happen at a weekend? It is frustrating enough when things go wrong, but worse when one cannot get them sorted immediately. The one consolation is that, unlike the US, Canadian motorcycle dealers do open on a Monday.

Classic cars in Kelowna’s downtown areaWe arrived fairly late in the evening yesterday and, having checked into our motel and eaten, we were exhausted. Today, we thought we ought to investigate the downtown area. And, yes, Kelowna does have a vibrant downtown area, down by the waterfront. Though you could be forgiven for losing the will to live getting there, past the miles upon miles of grotesque malls that have sprung up either side of Hwy 97 to the north of the city.

We had quickly come to the conclusion that, one way or another, our Alaska trip was probably busted. But it didn’t do to dwell on our predicament. Rather than confine ourselves to our gloomy motel room, staring glumly at our veritable library of maps and guide books, as soon as we were Ogopogoshowered, shaved and shampoo’ed, we took a ride into town to look for breakfast. After which, we took a stroll along the shoreline, and learned aJohn tackles a “small” Moo-Lix ice creambout Ogopogo, the Loch Ness-type creature that is said to inhabit Okanagan Lake. We briefly contemplated inviting ourselves into the KelownaYacht Club as visiting yachtsmen but, instead, visited the Orchard Industry Museum and wound up at the next door Wine Museum, discussing Canadian wines with an ex-pat Brit. John went off to buy a book to read, while I sat under a tree in the park and uploaded a couple of days’ blog entries from a wi-fi hotspot. All very civilised.Kelowna Marina boat hire pontoon

The bikini-clad girls running the boat rentals from the marina pontoon were doing brisk trade, and some of the more energetic kids entertained us practicing spectacular parkour moves, somersaulting over waste bins and steps. Parkour in the parkThey were oddly camera-shy, but John did manage to sneak this one shot. For most, though, it seemed like the ultimate lazy Sunday afternoon by the lake.

June 27th – Kelowna, BC (BST -7hrs)

Those of you with local knowledge – or a map – will immediately recognise that Kelowna is some 300 miles southeast of Williams Lake and nearly 750 miles away from Dawson Creek … where we were meant to be today. We have hit a snag. Potentially, a trip buster.

While fuelling this morning, we suddenly noticed a tablespoon or so of clear brown oil leaking from the BMW’s swingarm.Given that the service manager in Portland had told us to keep an eye on the final drive after cleaning off all the muck and corrosion, we could not continue north with the possibility of it seizing completely in the middle of nowhere. What am I talking about? Williams Lake is the middle of nowhere! Amongst other things we discovered this morning, our US cell phone doesn’t work in Canada. The closest BMW dealers were in Vancouver or Kelowna. Neither carried spare final drives, which could mean a wait of 4-5 days for parts.

Having spoken to both dealers, we opted for Kelowna on the basis that it is an attractive tourist destination in its own right, and the British service manager did a great job promoting the town. It has to be said though, we are both quite depressed at the prospect of a $2.5k+ repair, and the very real possibility that we may not reach Alaska.

June 26th – Williams Lake, BC (BST -7hrs)

Today was a rest day. Since we wont get to Calgary in time for their internationally-renowned Stampede, we took a day out to see the (not quite so) Famous Williams Lake Stampede. In comparison, both Williams Lake, the place, and the Williams Lake Stampede, are a fraction of the size of Calgary. Bronco riding (bareback)Bronco ridingIn fact, we struggled to identify the “downtown” area, until we realised that there wasn’t one: just a string of motels, stores and other businesses, strung out along the highway. Paired Calf RopingThe Stampede, nevertheless, attracts professional competitors from all over Canada and the US, and one from Australia lending an international flavour to the proceedings.

Rodeo is nothing if not unpredictable, and the action is fast. Wagon Racing We took plenty of photos, some better than others. Here is a selection of the least blurred shots. (Hover over the photo for a description, and click for an enlargement.)

 

 

June 25th – Williams Lake, BC (BST -7hrs)

In the cold light of day, we began to have doubts about some of our fellow residents. Amongst the obvious tourists in the hotel foyer, there were a number of thin and unhealthy-looking types with ragged clothes, who blended remarkably well with the trolley-pushing bag people, drug addicts and other misfits who populate the area’s streets. Since we could neither connect to the hotel’s wireless network, nor make an international call using our American pre-paid calling card, we had no reason to hang around any longer than it took to pack the bikes.

Hwy 99 from VancouverWe took Hwy 99 out of the city, through Squamish and Whistler. It is a great road. Vancouver will host the 2010 Winter Olympics so they have been making great strides in improving access. Almost as far as Whistler, a new dual-carriageway winds its way around the coastline, offering wonderful views of islands and inlets. Past Whistler the work continues. Hwy 99 beyond WhistlerAt one point, John and I found ourselves unexpectedly dirt-riding over several miles of twisty unsurfaced road in a construction zone. Then, all of a sudden, we found ourselves back in open countryside, with more stunning views.

It was a slow ride. It seemed that every time we were tempted to speed up a bit, we caught out by degraded road surface, a sneeky bit of construction or a narrow wooden bridge under repair. Best we get used to it though, as I am sure we will find much worse over the next couple of weeks.Wooden Bridge on 99

We got in to Williams Lake at about 8pm, slightly damp, after being caught in a brief, but vicious, downpour. View from our Drummond Lodge Motel roomAfter our Vancouver hotel room, the Drummond Lodge Motel was pure luxury. Our huge room even had a balcony overlooking the lake. We changed into some dry clothes and went to find dinner at the Laughing Loon pub down the road.

June 24th – Vancouver, BC (BST -7hrs)

John and Finnish TimoThe guy shaking hands with John is Timo. While we were waiting for Portland Motorcycles to put my bike back together, he brought his Finnish 1200 GSA in for service. Timo was midway through his own, solo, “Long Way Round” adventure. He left Finland in April, and has crossed Europe and the Balkans, Russia, Mongolia and Korea, before flying his BMW 1200 GSA into Vancouver for the start of his North American leg. Now, that’s a real trip and a half. Timo had been on his own for the majority of the trip, except for crossing Mongolia, and his only technical issue had been a punctured tyre – caused by riding over one of the many broken bottles discarded on the road by Russian drivers.

My bike was only in for a routine 24k inspection but, as luck would have it, when they dropped the final drive, they discovered a gunky mix of dirt, oil and water, along with a leaking seal and, inevitably, some corrosion. The service manager had never seen anything like it, and assumed I must have been doing some extreme off-roading. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but the presence of red-coloured soil suggests to me that it has been there since our last US trip in 2006 … (The Wilde brothers will remember our back roads tour of the cemetary in Erick.) Anyway, the technician polished off the rust as best he could and replaced the seals, but the extra work meant that the bike wouldn’t be ready until lunchtime, so John and I were left twiddling our thumbs all morning.

We eventually got away at about 2pm. With a minimum five and a half hour ride ahead of us (without any rest breaks), we didn’t bother with any sight-seeing. In addition, John had promised to look in on a family friend, so we needed to get a bit of a wiggle on.

As it was, it was nearly 9pm by the time we arrived at the Hotel Patricia. We certainly do pick ’em. When we mentioned where we were staying to Claire, she laughed and warned us to look out for the crackheads. She was right. What a place! We didn’t dare leave any luggage or accessories on our bikes overnight, so took everything up to our tiny room Tiny room at Hotel Patriciabefore meeting Claire and Steve next door in Pat’s Pub. Great place. It was film night, and they were playing some sort of Australian slasher movie about vampire zombies. It was extremely hard not to be distracted by the sight of our hero brandishing a lawn-mower as he defended himself against the undead masses. Very messy.

Despite our closet-sized room, we liked the hotel well enough. Comfortable bed, good linen and friendly staff and, after a few pints of the pub’s micro-brewed cream ale, we were asleep before our heads hit the pillow.

June 23rd – Troutdale, Oregon (BST -7hrs)

George’s group moved out at 6am, and we were awakened by the unmistakable sound of half a dozen Harley exhausts farting away outside our bedroom window.

We said goodbye to Doug and Joanne too. They are now on their way back to Michigan, with their trailer loaded to the gunnels with our surplus luggage.

After breakfast, John and I delivered my ailing BMW to Portland Motorcycles for its 24,000 mile service. Then we went shopping for camping equipment and mosquito repellent for the next leg of our trip. For the moment, at any rate, we are all alone. However, there are now, effectively, four separate groups of Mother Road riders going to Alaska, so it remains to be seen whether any of our paths will cross along the way.

We couldn’t very well leave the Portland area without, at least, telephoning Brad and Gina. But it must have been 4pm by the time we got back to the motel, so we couldn’t honestly expect them to alter their plans to meet us with so little notice.

As it happened, Brad was only too glad to be let off a small construction job in the back yard. They cooked us an al fresco dinner and we ended up spending an extremely pleasant evening catching up on each other’s news over the last 3 years or so since the last time we all rode Route 66 together.

June 22nd – Troutdale, Oregon (BST -7hrs)

We rode the Pacific Coast Highway from Eureka to Crescent City, stopping for breakfast at Klamath. It was, perhaps, not the most interesting stretch of this road, with most of the coastline being hidden by the redwood forests. But we did catch the odd tantalising glimpse of the sea before we headed inland to link up with the I-5.

In addition to the malfunctioning servo, I had no brake light, so it was decided that it would be safer for me to lead the group – with the others watching my ass, as it were.

Being principally an Interstate day, there is little to tell. We got into our motel in Troutdale around 6.30pm, put some washing on, and went out to dinner. George’s group had arrived earlier and had gone to look at a waterfall. They caught up with us at the restaurant. This is probably the last time our two groups will coincide. From tomorrow, we will gradually fall behind, as we stop over for a bike service in Portland and a rodeo in Williams Lake. But, with the ever-present possibility of mechanical problems, it is possible we may pick up some stragglers along the way. Willie has already encountered a final drive problem with his Harley, so he and Jim are still around 500 miles behind us in Redding, getting it fixed.

June 21st – Eureka, California (BST -7hrs)

Rather than eat a third successive meal at a Denny’s Restaurant, we decided to put some miles on early in the day and find a café in Hollister, 70 miles north on Hwy 25.

 

Marlon Brando mural in HollisterHollister is the birthplace of American biking. Marlon Brando’s classic movie, “The Wild One”, depicted a much sensationalised account of a riot that occurred in there during the Gypsy Tours Motorcycle Rally in 1947. “The Boozefighters”, a group of WW2 veterans, who were reported to have started the fighting, were one of the country’s first motorcycle clubs and proud to be labelled the one-percenters, i.e. the one percent of bikers who were bad-ass troublemakers!

 

As such, one might have expected Hollister to be a Mecca for modern-day motorcyclists, and certainly the place to find biker-friendly bars and diners for a slap-up grease fix on a Sunday morning. But, in reality, Hollister is a rather sleepy town, with an attractive main street. It does, indeed, have a number of appealing cafés and restaurants, and a mural of Marlon Brando … But, on this particular Sunday morning, there wasn’t another bike in sight.

 

Joanne spotted the Knife & Fork Café as a likely breakfast venue. The bright and sunny ambiance was further enhanced by flowers and a huge, cleverly positioned, mirror in which the whole street was reflected. We installed ourselves at a window table … next to a table of authentic-looking, though slightly elderly, biker types. We got talking.

As they finished their meal, a tall guy with a grey beard stooped low to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Roger Grimsley. Welcome to our country. I have just paid for your breakfast.” Taken aback, and in our haste to thank him for his generosity, we thought we might have misunderstood as he continued “… eat slow. I’ll be back with T-shirts.”

It turned out that Roger runs the Gypsy Tour Motorcycle Classic event, which took over the town’s 4th of July celebrations, when the local authority refused to continue policing them. Ah … so the notoriety of the town isn’t, perhaps, entirely forgotten. Roger did, indeed, return with T-shirts for all of us. Not just T-shirts either. He brought a huge box containing half a dozen shirts, leather hats, embroidered patches, and pins commemorating the Gypsy Tours’ 50th Anniversary.

The Knife & Fork Café in HollisterSo, duly re-fuelled with bacon and eggs, we bade farewell to the café’s owner, Sheila Stevens, and headed north again. Sorry to say, after so pleasant a start, our day went steadily downhill.

Having stopped for gas on the outskirts of San Francisco, I put my right foot in a pothole while trying to change into first gear at a Stop sign. With the all the weight of my luggage, I had no hope of saving the bike and, being close in to the curb, I couldn’t free myself in time. Luckily, my ridiculous-looking motocross boots took most of the weight of the 1200cc bike and, though trapped for a moment or two, suffered no more than a bruised foot. My bike, however, suffered some damage to the braking system and, although I had a regular service booked in Portland, I rode the rest of the way with no servo, using the gears to slow the bike. Coming to a complete halt was like stopping a tanker with bicycle brakes!

On top of this, we had various navigational difficulties getting out of the city, partially caused by a traffic jam on the Golden Gate Bridge (so no photos this time), and partially by human error. Suffice to say, it must have taken over an hour to find our way across the bay and rejoin Hwy 101.

With 220 miles to go to Eureka, we pulled over for an ice cream and a drink. It was already 4pm. The shadows were lengthening and the cold had set in. Impressive though the redwood forests were initially, we were freezing and hungry by the time we got to our motel. All local restaurants within walking distance were closed, so we made do with a takeaway coffee and Domino’s pizza.