Update 8

The next day was a bit of a marathon from Squamish to Prince George, somewhere around 450 miles.




It rained on and off, but the fog set in thick as night fell. I could hardly see 10 ft down the road at times, and my helmet visor fogged up instantly if I had it down. If I had it up, the mist adhered to my glasses. I could almost see better with my glasses off. I slowed and waited for big rigs to come by, and then I either tailed them or they tailed me. If they were loaded, eventually they would pass me, or I would pass them if they were unloaded and slowed to a crawl on the hills to conserve fuel. In the lights of these passing motherships, I was able to see well enough down the road to go 55mph, and made it to Prince George past 1am, everthing fully soaked.



I checked into a $100 hotel and spent the next few hours resealing the seams on my motorcycle luggage and trying to retreat my jacket with Nikwax water repellent. During the ride up my kickstand bolts had backed out and the whole assembly was hanging by the wire of the safety sensor, so I spent the next day procuring those bolts and fresh tires to bring north with me.

On my first camp not far outside of Prince George I met Bjørn, a German fellow out of England who was riding around the world on his F650GS, this being his third year and toward the end. He hailed me into his campsite to split the camping fee, and we spent a few hours trading traveller's tricks.



I hope he won't be offended if I say that at first he seemed a little weary of the annoyances of travel, particularly poorly made zippers and other equipment, and was looking forward to home--at least on that day. I'm afraid I didn't improve his humor when I went to get my breakfast the next morning and dropped both his food bag and mine from 10ft up a tree, breaking two tupperwear containers (no doubt perfectly sized for his panniers), a banana, and a tomato. I apologized profusely and bought his next tank of gas when we set off the next day.





We got along well enough though, and camped up the road at Meziadin Lake, where we met another traveller, a Heidi, lady rider on a DR650 out of Oakland, CA. I had actually met her briefly at a gas station a few days back in Southern Oregon.

Meziadin Lake is at the intersection of 37 and 37A, which leads to Stewart and Hyder. That evening I went to get gas in Stewart, but found that the station closed at 7pm. It was 11pm, so I siphoned gas from a group of people on cruisers, who were drunk and heckled me (albeit good-naturedly) as I spat gas and eventually got enough to make it back, I hoped. It was rather harrowing to nurse the bike along a road so awesome and intimidating, knowing that bears lived in the forest and grumpkins lurked among the glaciers should I run out of fuel. I took no pictures, but the ride certainly made an impression on me.

The three travelers bounced around the road to Stewart again, and took some photos along the way.



When we got to Stewart, we quite by accident dispersed our separate ways--like cats I suppose. Heidi went out to Hyder, and I was going to join her for lunch but when I realized there was a border crossing from Stewart, BC to Hyder, AK, I decided to stay back. When you're living free on the road there's nothing so humiliating as a border crossing. At least in entering Canada, the questions are centered on determining if you are an upstanding citizen, which means having a clear plan including destinations, times of exit, a purpose, and gainful employment. Terrorists and illegal immigrants and motorcycle travellers apparently fit a common profile. Bjørn had a friend to meet down the road and photos to take, and he headed off in his own way as well.