Hyder, AK >> Dease Lake, BC 255 miles/6.5 hours
If you, dear reader, decide to take a motorcycle tour in Alaska someday, do yourself a favor and pick up “The Milepost.” Nothing will better prepare you for your journey. Complete with dozens of detailed maps and exacting descriptions of everything you could possibly encounter along the way, it is – as it claims to be – the bible of North Country travel. If it says there are two stores, three houses, and a post office in some town, that’s all there is; no more, no less. It is the most complete, thorough atlas of the area available, an invaluable resource for anyone headed to the far north.
The one bone I’d pick with its authors, however, is the overly generous use and overly broad definition of the term “paved road.” Essentially, this is used to describe just about every surface that isn’t, say, an unmaintained dirt logging road and not, you know… actual blacktop. Admittedly, I previously had an issue with Canadians’ use of “through,” so it might sound like I’m nit-picking over language like a high school English teacher, but to call a packed-dirt road “paved” is misleading at best, inaccurate at worst.
Even so, some of these “paved” roads should come with warning labels! The spur that connects Stewart, BC, to the Cassiar Highway is basically a hardened slurry of seashells and razor blades… While your tires will never lose their grip, you can feel them being shredded with every rotation.
Other humorous stretches of this highway included navigating hairpin turns blanketed with golf-ball rocks (where these came from and how they gathered there, I can’t even imagine) and a section of road that appeared to be the result of someone scraping the top off a sand dune: a shoulder-less, wedge-shaped dirt plateau with a 15’ drop to the forest floor below. Travel on the Cassiar Highway was slow and cautious even for an admitted speed demon like myself.
Since there are only so many roads this far north (and even fewer service stations), I ended up falling in with a group of riders from Alberta and a solo rider from British Columbia who had joined them at Bell II, a village along the Cassiar Highway. We ended up traveling together until Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory, where our paths diverged: They were heading for the Arctic Circle via the Dempster Highway – the remote dirt road popular with hardcore adventurers – whereas I’d follow the ALCAN (a.k.a. the Alaska Highway, more frequently referred to as the ALCAN due to its previous name, the Alaska-Canada Highway) to Alaska and the Dalton Highway, a road so famous it had its own TV show (“Ice Road Truckers”).
Considering I was the only one riding a cruiser – these Canadians had wisely decided on dual-sports for the most part – my bike quickly became the butt of numerous good-natured jokes. Admittedly, a cruiser is not necessarily the best tool for the job of navigating unpaved or loose gravel roads, but if I was going to be riding anything for the next few months, it might as well be the cozy two-wheeler I often describe as “a couch that goes 100mph.” After all, the Shadow was the bike I owned and it served me well up to this point, so it would have to do… The trip would be, as T.E. Lawrence (a.k.a. Lawrence of Arabia) once wrote: “messy and slow, like eating soup with a knife.”
Contrasted to the sidecar-equipped Ural overflowing with spare tires, tools, food, and fuel the leader of the Canadian contingent piloted, my gypsy bike looked like a hobo bindle. Occupying my passenger seat was a waterproof courier bag full of clothes which doubled as a backrest; atop that was my sleeping bag; and webbed down on top of that was my CamelBak bladder, extra gloves, and anything else that needed to dry out. One saddlebag housed emergency supplies; the other, camping gear and maps. Perched on the gas tank was a magnetic tankbag. The jerry can was bungeed to the luggage rack, inconspicuously disguised with a beach towel. After all, fuel was something I couldn’t afford to lose: If I ran out of gas anywhere along these remote roads, it would be a long walk to the nearest gas station. To paraphrase the “Mad Max” movies: Without fuel, you’re nothing out here.
Despite riding an anti-fashion statement that looked like a cross between a clown car and a yard sale, there’d be no “fifth wheel” (a.k.a. trailer) for me. If I couldn’t figure out how to get it on the bike, it clearly wasn’t an absolute necessity and therefore I didn’t need it. This bare-bones lifestyle stuck with me when I returned home: Looking around my cluttered apartment, I eventually donated about half my stuff to charity.
On the road, information is currency and everyone is happy and eager to share their stories, knowledge and wisdom. While grabbing a bite or sipping coffee, people discuss road conditions, the weather, the price of gas, attractions to see and the quality of food at the next service station, which in Canada is about every 100 miles. Following Rule of the Road #1, everyone stops to stretch, fuel up and provide insight about the roads they just traveled.
Shortly after leaving Bell II, I saw two more bears – the first, resting on his laurels and chomping grass; the other I spotted from a distance crossing the road. I slowed down and it ambled up its bear path into the brush.
The Albertans and I reconnected at the only restaurant in Dease Lake, BC, and enjoyed recounting our voyage, marveling at the hail bouncing off our visors while crossing a mountain pass, and commenting on the weather:
“Isn’t that the sun shining through the clouds?" "No, that's just the hole the rain's coming through.”
After eating, the Albertans decided to camp nearby, whereas I continued on so I could sleep in. They planned to rally at 5.30a – a bit early for my liking – and we agreed to reconnect the next day.
I had a group of friends and family I wanted to regale with tales of adventure from the road, so I’d send emails when I could find a library and postcards when available. An email sent on Day 4:
Hey everyone!
Fourth day into the trip and they’ve all had their share of fun and adventure… So far, I’ve (not in order):
- Seen three bears
- Driven a 10-hour day
- Been on the Jumbotron at a Seattle Mariners game
- Spent a week relaxing in the Cascades
- Ran out of gas (thank god for the reserve!)
- Set up and struck camp in the rain
- Seen some of the most amazing scenery of my life
- Driven some of the best roads ever
- Pretty much been smiling non-stop
Every biker I meet at a refueling stop is friendly and has plenty of tips and advice; I even met a couple from New Brunswick that told me the road from Baie-Comeau into Labrador was driveable… The trip gets better every day! Even the rain can’t dampen my spirits!
Postcards when I find a post office. Hope all’s well with everyone.
-GK