The Rootbeer Run, Chasing the Sun, and other misadventures

I hope you do continue! This is a good report and I enjoy every post.

Cool man. I'll mark you as an "in".

And you're doing a fine job with your RR. Just keep plugging away. You're off to a great start.

Very good read, keep it coming

I'm really enjoying your story. Keep it coming when you can. Did you fix your carb?

I woke up the next morning and broke out the duct tape, determined to make this situation better. I had snagged a decent sized sheet of bubble-mylar water tank insulation from Javier with intent on turning it into a water bladder sleeve, but found it unnecessary in the north. Instead, I laid out a couple patterns and began cutting away, using my duct-tape seamstressing skills that I'd perfected over the years as a redneck, I fashioned a hell of a thermal vest and booties. Laugh if you want, but these fuckers practically radiated heat. With a chuckle, I packed up my gear quite pleased with myself and got back on the road. Scored some overpriced, motor oil-like coffee and moved on. I made it to Whitehorse some time in the afternoon. I did some laundry and had some shitty KFC. I stocked up on supplies and do a bike check. My engine doesn't seem to be going through much oil, maybe a couple ounces in 2500 miles, but the lower half has a nice coating of oil and dust clinging to it. Something to keep an eye on, I suppose. With that I headed out once again, aiming for Haines Jct. I noted that the Top of the World highway was the northern route out of White Horse, and decided that I would pass through there on my return trip. Camped out at yet another unnamed lake 20 miles NW of Haines Jct.

All in good time, my friend.

I remember you telling me about the mylar gear you scored from Javier and created.... Never got to see it though till now F@^k'n cool!!!

I'll suppress the "where's the foil hat?" joke and comment on your roadside ingenuity! Staying warm a big part of the battle. Man you were doing that trip right!

This is great stuff and I look forward to each new installment!

This is where my journal entries end, so from here on out I'm going solely by memory. I expect details to suffer as a result, but I'm looking through pictures and I'm gonna put some time into recording what details I can remember.




So, I continued along Highway 1 towards the border. The ride here was actually very nice. Awesome scenery. I just can't get enough of the sights as the road winds along several huge lakes. Nothing could beat a ride like this. Then the bike stuttered. Maybe it was my imagination... no, there it was again. Every time I cranked the throttle, the engine would stutter and barely pull out of it's own weight. I coast into the next pull off, which happens to be a lakeside RV park, and park alongside a picnic bench. It wasn't long before I had the tank and plastics pulled, doing the usual checks without much success. I took advantage of the free wifi and surfed a few forums in an attempt to troubleshoot the issue ASAP. Everything was pointing towards an electrical issue. With that, I wandered towards the front desk and spoke with the older woman behind the counter. Turns out she was from the lower 48, she and her husband just ran the place during the summer months. They called it Destruction Bay... awesome. I got permission to do some work on the bike in the park, which was fairly dead as this was the last week the park would be open. She was kind enough to supply me with some steel wool from the back room and I, in turn, bought some candy and soda. Back at the bike, I pulled all the contacts and scrubbed them free of corrosion, coating all the contacts with vaseline and plugging it all back together. That seemed to do the trick and I was shortly on my way, thanking the woman profusely for all of her help.







I passed along a woman in leather standing alongside the road, an “aged” Harley parked just a few dozen feet away. A camera is raised to her eyes and she's focused on the shot. I doubled back, deciding that she had the right idea, you don't pass by something like this without taking a few pics. We chatted a bit as I pulled out my beater of a digital camera and took a panorama. It turns out this ladey was on a day ride for her day off and is the owner of a place known as Buckshot Betty's just on the Canadian side of the border. Seeing as I was headed that way, I made a point to stop on by and have a cup of coffee before hopping borders. At a rest area after my caffeine fix, I buried yet another cache so I could investigate the crossing cleanly. Got past the Canadian crossing without any issues, but I was surprised at how much road ran between the two borders. Twenty some odd miles, with some of the most sphincter jarring potholes I've encountered yet. I was sure to scan the roads and fields as I neared the crossing, hoping to find some way to detour the official crossing, but no luck. At the guard station, I answered the usual questions and quickly began shooting the shit with the guard. I picked his brain as far as gas stops and camping spots. He informed me that camping was free in all of Alaska, as long as there wasn't a sign specifically indicating otherwise. I nodded a thank you and continued on to the next gas stop, gassing up and grabbing some coffee as I contemplated my next move. The crossing was fairly easy. I didn't really get why everyone was making such a big deal out of it. If anything, the Alaskan crossing was more laid back than the lower 48 crossing.







With that, I doubled back into Canada in the fading daylight. At the Canadian crossing, I was immediately hassled. Interrupting the guard, I told her that I had just come through and had forgotten my cell phone at some coffee house up the road. Shotgun Suzies? “Buckshot Betty's, just up the road. They're closing though, you'd better hurry up.” Alrighty then, I thanked her and continued on. Just up the road I pulled over at the rest area and grabbed my fresh cache, merely sticking it in my side box and doubling back to the crossing. I rocketed once again against the minefield of a highway and pulled back into the American crossing. I passed a US Border patrol truck along the way, and I hoped that there had been a guard switch, but I had no such luck. The same guard was out front and raised a brow as I approached. Before he could ask questions, I had informed him that I had left my cell back at Buckshot Betty's and hadta double back before they closed, but that I had gotten it. He laughed, and said that they had some good coffee there. With a chuckle, I nodded in agreement and entered the Alaska with no hassles. I made a point to pull over at the next rest area to celebrate my arrival the right way... I continued down the highway and pulled into Tok after dark. I wolfed down a quick gas station hotdog and pitched a tent at the next picnic area. Got a nice roaring fire going and had a good night's rest in America's last frontier.

I admire your balls going back for your stash. I do remember being young and thinking fuck it! Nothings going to happen. I think if I tried that now at my age(47) I would be so nervous it would look like there was a neon sign on my forehead saying "Please don't look, I have a stash in my saddlebag".

haha just wait till later in the RR It get's better

Don't ruin it, man! And by better, he means dumber...


I dunno that there's much to admire. It was a bad choice, one that I got away with, one I wouldn't recommend, but one that would be repeated many times over.

Jim, we need to get together and sort out what details should be left out as this story progresses...

I agree! :huh Was think'n of getting together with you to discuss that... once I finish this carpet job I'm on I can ride up to BS and plan SA Maybe this weekend.

Great stuff, nice writing style and good pics

Somewhere North of Oroville, there lies buried the remains of a baggie and enough to twist up a couple. We came back south through Sumas and never went back for it.Anyone who can find it is welcome to it. It has been there since 1979, though.

Good RR! I can relate to a lot of it.

Great RR ! Can't wait for the rest!

Wow, a bit late. There was a distinct lack of photos and journal entries to use as reference for this post, so it's all by memory. As a result, quality may have suffered a bit.



I got up early the next morning and hauled ass west towards Anchorage. It was gray, wet, and cold. I remember pulling alongside a logging road to get my head straight and take care of... business. As I went to slide my glass chillum in my inner jacket liner, in my haze I forgot which side had the pocket. I did the old slid-in on the wrong side and dropped my pipe down along the liner and to the gravel below. A sickening crack broke the evening air. It echoed through my head as I realized I didn't have any papers. Lame..... Satisfied with my buzz, I hauled ass into Anchorage to retrieve my tire. I scored my new Kenda, as well as an adventure sheepskin and a few balaclavas from Barb at Alaska leather. We had a nice chat and she told me a bit of her travels on a KLR. I also got some very useful information, the location of the nearest head shop and a free place to camp at the House of Harley. Score! Cruised on into town to nab a fresh piece and doubled back to the House of Harley. This place is great, free place for moto-camping and free hot shower. I very much recommend the place. There was another bike already there, with a tent pitched in the far corner. An older Africa Twin, absolutely covered in stickers. This thing was a monstrosity, it looks like it's been through hell and back. So I make myself at home and waited for my new neighbor to show.






A shower and some half-decent Wendys leaves me wandering back to the campsite, where I find an older englishman. Hmm... He introduces himself as Ian Coates, a world traveler. He apparently left his home in England for a three month road trip.... that was eleven years ago. He hasn't been back. Amazing. We shoot the shit for a bit and he entertains me with stories of his own adventures. Just before nightfall, a loaded V-strom pulls alongside the fence in the upper parking lot. The rider flips his lid as he kills the engine and asks us how the hell we got past the gate. Jogging around, I threw it open as the newcomer coasts down into the rear parking area. Introductions were passed, his name was Danny, and as luck would have it, his top case was full of beer. I knew I was in good company. We spent the remainder of the night chatting and drinking. It turns out that Danny recognized Ian's ride, and already knew quite a bit about Ian's travels. This dude is a damn celebrity on the Horizons Unlimited forum, he's been everywhere, bumming about the countryside and working on farms and metal shops in exchange for some food or a place to stay. The key, he informed us, is to do much more than what you're asking for. Chock full of wisdom. As the sun dropped in the late-evening skies, Ian quickly disappeared into his tattered tent, leaving Danny and I on our own. Chillums were passed, beers consumed. All in all, it was a good night.


Over the next day or two, I just kind of hung out. We all did maintenance on our rides. Oil changes, filters cleanings, tires mounted. I threw on a cheap set of grip-warmers in an attempt to stave off the cold. We even got in a few rides around town, in quite an odd fashion. Ian threw on his high-vis coat, but left on his way too short-shorts. I remember watching as people on the highway would tap the glass, pointing out the crazy Brit to the others in the car. They got a good laugh, and Ian couldn't give less of a fuck. If there's anything I got from this guy, it was a “Just do it. Fuck 'em, just do it” attitude.


I even spent a good hour or so shooting the shit with some of the folks at the neighboring adventure rental place, Motoquest Tours. I remember Ben, specifically. He seemed pretty interested in the mods I had done to the KLR. I tossed the keys his way to take it on a test run. A good twenty minutes later he comes baja-ing back into the parking lot with a big grin on his face. He seems pretty satisfied with what I've done and picks my brains a bit. The front dive? Progressive springs. 685 kit? Schnitz Racing. That kinda stuff. He jotted all this down and seemed pretty eager to give some of these upgrades a try to some of the rental vehicles. Pulling me towards the back of the shop, he showed me his own personal ride. A Ducati of some sort. I don't remember what specifically, but it was a fairly impressive ride. Shortly there after, he turns to me and smirks. “Well, I rode yours, you wanna give this a shot?” I grinned but declined. I didn't have nearly the mileage under my belt to feel comfortable riding someones bike, especially in a congested and still fairly foreign city. With that, I headed back to the campsite to plan out my next route. I was already this far, I might as well continue heading south. That's the way that Danny had headed earlier in the day, and it was enthusiastically recommended seeing as there was a brief window of a couple of days where the weather would stay relatively clear. And so that was that, I had a heading.

Iv been following from the start of ur report an its great. An come on Bumblebee maybe you should vent ur issues on some other site. Keep it coming Parepin iv enjoyed reading about ur adventure.

**snikker**

Hey Alex......you suck!


Flashmo says "hello!" I am sitting at his house, wrestling his dog(s)