3 forest fires, 12 bottles of rum, and the ghost of Walter Matthau

After last year’s trip down south to the States, Hammy and I knew we had to head out for another “Big Trip” (big for us noobs anyways). The only real question that remained was where to go. Our time constraints (I could only get 2-weeks away from work) limited us somewhat, but we were confident we could still build on what we had started the year before. We weighed a couple of options, but eventually decided we would make a run for the Pacific Ocean and the west coast of Vancouver Island. After a few days of kicking it around we decided to make our way west from Edmonton, Alberta through the central part of BC, catching the ferry at Bella Coola, then sailing south to Port Hardy. Our rough route plan looked like this
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So the excitement built as departure day approached. Hammy had made the trip from Saskatoon the day before departure and managed to snap a few stunning pics along the way.
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Our ferry passage had been booked for Aug 3, and that was pretty much the only solid date/location we had on the entire trip. Over a few rums that night, we decided I should cash in a few banked hours at work and leave a half day early just to be sure we had lots of time to make it to Bella Coola. Hammy met me at the office, and soon we were on our way.
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I wanted to make a few miles before stopping, so we pushed to Wabamun for lunch. Hammy had a summer job out there during his misspent youth, and wanted to stop in to reminisce. We stopped for a bite and rode the bikes out on to the pier.
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From there we just bombed west as best we could. We stopped a few times just to stretch the legs and pick up provisions (rum and beef jerky) before hitting the park boundary.
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We stopped in the town of Jasper to figure out what we wanted to do. We still felt good, and it was just late afternoon, so we kept heading west into Mount Robson Provincial Park. We stopped at Robson Meadows and got a campsite for the night. It was here we learned that the entire province of British Columbia was under a complete fire ban. There were several pretty bad fires in the province (as we would soon see first-hand), and there were no campfires allowed anywhere in the province. It wasn’t really a problem as even up in the mountains, it was 32C. As you can tell, Hammy really likes to take picture (he should…he’s damn good at it), and had recently bought some new equipment (flashes and other gadgets). He was just itching to try out some of his new toys once we got to camp.
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We had made way more miles than we had thought we would in a half-day (514kms), so we polished off the rum while going over the back road atlas investigating possible detours for Day 2…….

Fantastic 1st picture!

The birds woke us the next morning and we packed up camp with a minimum of fuss. Hammy had bought a jet boil stove before the trip, and was just as eager to use that as he was his new camera toys. It came with a coffee press attachment, so we had fresh coffee (Mmmmmm ) before saddling up again and pushing west.
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Our first detour of the day was a forestry road near Thunder River (Lac St. Mary FSR or something like that) . I was still a little doubtful of Hammy’s Versys being very good on anything other than slab, but I have to say that small wheelbase had him floating over stuff that beat the hell out of my skid plate (more on that later). It was a lot steeper than the video makes it look (honest!)
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We climbed the forestry road for a bit before our desire to go back down and dip our feet in the river overwhelmed our desire to see the top of the road. It was only 10 in the morning, and it was already 30 degrees out.
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We took another detour around Horse Lake on some great twistys. There was a little construction near the beginning, but all was quickly forgiven when it turned out they were the crew that had just finished laying down fresh pavement the rest of the way.
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After stopping in 100 Mile House for another bottle of rum and more beef jerky, we pushed on a little further to Lac La Hache. We got a great spot in the shade and set up camp. We got a site with power so we set the cameras to upload while we went for a swim. It was friggin’ hot, so a dip in the lake and an ice cream from the store were just what the doctor ordered.
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I took the opportunity to go over my bike and see how my skid plate had held up against that forestry road from earlier in the day.
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We cooked up some more boil-in-a-bag, drank another bottle of rum and chatted with some of the other folks in the campground. We met one guy who had toured around the whole area many times in his job and told us to try the food at Graham’s Inn in Tatla Lake. He pointed out a bunch of cool roads in the area too. It was still over 25 degrees when we went to sleep.
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We still had lots of time to make it to Bella Coola, so we planned out a few more off-highway detours for Day 3…turns out for at least 2 of them, we wouldn’t have a choice.

I'm in, keep it coming.

More rum !!

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We rolled out of the tent before anyone else in the campground and packed up camp. We were already getting pretty good at getting things packed up pretty quickly. Although the time of our tear-down seemed to be directly related to the amount of rum we had drank the night before. :slurp
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There was a little bit of smoke in the air, but we really didn’t think too much of it. We had found a really cool back road detour the night before, and were pretty sure we could take it to Williams Lake in plenty of time for breakfast. We got onto the southeastern end of Chimney Lake Rd and were loving the rough dirt and gravel track. As we got further into the trees more and more dried up wash-outs and deep ruts started to appear. Tons of fun, although with all the camping gear on the Strom, she handled like a tank.
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It just got worse and worse until eventually I got into a rut so deep, the edges grabbed my skid plate and I went down. A pretty slow get-off (I already had my leg down), but with all the weight on the bike I couldn’t hold it up. I had her back on the rubber immediately, but of course she had stalled. Went around the bike and aside from two good scratches on the fairing, all was fine. Except she wouldn’t start. All the lights, indicators, and controls worked fine, just nothing when I hit the starter. Not even a click. It seemed to me there might be a problem with the sidestand interlock. The stand had taken quite a shit-kicking when the bike went over. I checked it out, and all was good. Hmmmmm…..WTF? At this point we’ve been standing on this remote road not having seen a single vehicle. We hadn’t stopped for food or fuel yet that day, so we had no water or even any beef jerky!! Oh ya…and it was friggin’ hot. At this point some BC mountain man in his ¼ ton rust-bucket comes crawling by. He gave us his best smile by showing off all 3 of his teeth then kept going. The banjo music from “Deliverance” was playing in my head at the time, so I wasn’t all that disappointed he didn’t stop. Back to the bike….I knew there was a similar interlock to the one on the side stand on the clutch as well. Sure enough upon closer inspection the small clip holding the wire in had come out. A quick click back in, and we were running!
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We re-considered our situation and decided to trade the Chimney Lake Road for the highway as soon as possible. A few clicks down the slab we ran into this guy.
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There had been a bad collision and the road was closed. He said we could detour around it by heading south then picking up an old gravel road called…..wait for it….Chimney Lake Road. So after a few clicks south we were back on the same road we had started on, although the road conditions were MUCH better. It had now become just a standard run-of-the-mill gravel road. It actually improved along the way into a great little twisty bit of pavement right near Brunson Lake. We made it into Williams Lake for lunch instead of breakfast and made sure we were completely stocked up for the night (more beef jerky and another bottle of rum). We pushed on a little further to Bull Canyon before stopping to stretch and take a few pics.
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As you can see there was starting to be a fair amount of smoke in the air. We had heard there were a few forest fires in the area, but from the info we had, they were still pretty far off.
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Hammy had tree-planted in this area (again, during his misspent youth) and remembered there was a nice lake nearby called Puntzie Lake. We headed out there and stopped at the first place we found. It was called Barney’s Getaway or something like that. There were only two other sites taken in the entire place. We set up camp, and started in on the rum (we were feeling cocky and got a 40 of Bacardi 1873).
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It was getting smokey out, in fact you could do what your mother always told you not to do, and look directly at the sun. Made for a nice sunset though.
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We spoke to the folks that run the campsite and they said the road to Bella Coola had been closed all day due to a forest fire at Anahiem Lake. They had friends that were stuck on the other side and they said it was expected to be reopened by 11:00 the next morning. We had shelled out big $$ to take the ferry from Bella Coola to Port Hardy and we had to be there by 0600 Aug 3<SUP>rd</SUP> to catch our boat. No other real choice but to continue on with the plan until we couldn’t anymore. We focused in on finishing that bottle (which we did!) and took advantage of the powered site to charge our gear while we enjoyed the scenery.
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Nice route guys, I'm looking forward to the norther coast and the island section of the RR.

Wes

We were already getting pretty good at getting things packed up pretty quickly. Although the time of our tear-down seemed to be directly related to the amount of rum we had drank the night before. :slurp


How true............. subscribed

I don't see no stink'n Rhum?

DW

If you look closely at any picture that shows the picnic table with anything at all on it, chances are it will be either a bottle or improvised cup of rum.

-Whitey Jr

Trust us, there was lots of rum. Although at times there was never enough.

CJH

We rolled out of the tent feeling the effects of last night’s 40, and took our sweet time packing up camp. There was definitely more smoke in the air. We rode a short distance to Tatla Lake to check out the Graham Inn which had been recommended by a dude in Lac la Hache. We arrived in Tatla Lake early and neither Grahams Inn nor the nearby gas station was open.
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We spent some time chatting with a few other people waiting for the restaurant to open and found out that several of them had already been turned back by the Mounties a few clicks down the road. The Anaheim lake fire was out of control, and there was no mention about any re-opening at 11 that morning. “Oh well”, we’d keep planning on heading that way until we heard different. As 0900 rolled around we saw the old-timer that ran the gas station put out the “open” sign. We pulled the bikes up to the pumps and went into the store. You have to pre-pay for all gas in BC, and these pumps were not the pay-at-the-pump kind. We asked him if we could get gas and he grumbled something back about “maybe once I’m open”. We look at each other, shrug, and go back to the bikes. The grumpy old-timer eventually comes out and proceeds to turn on the pumps and pump our gas. Eventually we asked him enough questions about his place and the area, that he decided we were OK. In the space of about 5 mins, he went from snapping at us and giving us the stink-eye, to offering to oil our chains and keep our bikes in the shade of his shop while we ate breakfast. We took him up on the parking spot in the shop, and went into Grahams Inn for a little breakkie.
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It was awesome!! Definitely recommended. Sorry, but I don’t have a picture. As we were enjoying a delicious meal (I had good old bacon and eggs, while Hammy had the eggs benedict), the waitress/owner came out of the back and made an announcement. “Attention all travelers!” “BC Roads and Transportation has just announced the road to Bella Coola is closed indefinitely”. Son of a *^%! We poured over the back road atlas for a little while before heading back to the bikes. There was no detour around the fire. The highway was our only option to get to Bella Coola. The gas-guy (who I refer to as Grumpy Dave) told us the same news we got at the Inn. We were booked to catch our ferry the next morning at 0600, and it didn’t look like we were going to get there. The second half of our trip (after we saw the Island) was supposed to be touring the Okanagan and Kootenay regions, so we kind of half-heartedly decided to meander in that direction until we were struck by a better idea. While Hammy called BC Ferries to see if we could get our money back, I chatted with Grumpy Dave about our options to head south. He looked at me squarely and asked “How adventurous you boys feeling?” “We’ll take anything you can throw at us” I replied. He smiled and took me over to the large map on the wall. There was a large ranch south of Riske Creek that had a road allowance through it, and Grumpy Dave assured us we could buy gas at the ranch if needed. We decided to go for it and we hit the road!
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We filled up again at Lee’s Corner (just to be safe) and headed south towards the Gang Ranch Road. It started off as a great oiled gravel road. No dust and solid surface…not to mention the amazing views.
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Eventually the road deteriorated into rough twin-track in the middle of friggin’ nowhere. Sandy surface and 44 degree temps. We didn’t feel like stopping much, but we did have the helmet-cams running.
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Eventually we got to the ranch and found a big sign by the shop that read “No Gas Sales!!” No big deal, we could each go about 400kms on a tank (or even further considering we never broke 90kph for most of the morning), so we pushed on. The road soon returned to a normal rural grid road, and we eventually came to the Fraser River and this little tributary (whose name escapes me). That’s where we saw an 800GS and an XT350 parked by the creek. We stopped in and enjoyed a chat with a couple of locals just out for a day ride.
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We got some good info from them on road conditions and where the nearest services were, then we pushed on.
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Eventually we made it to the town of Clinton. We were hot, sweaty, covered in dust, and a little pissed off about missing our boat to the island. We found a pub, parked the bikes in the shade and went in for our first restaurant supper of the trip (steaks and beer).
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I had brought the road atlas in with me and we quickly realized, we could still do all the stuff we wanted to on the island if we headed straight to Vancouver the next day. In fact, even though we’d miss the ride from Port Hardy, if we landed in Nanaimo, we’d actually be a half day ahead of where our original plan had put us. We polished off the beer and made that our plan. We stocked up on more rum and beef jerky (going back to a 26 oz) and headed to the campground at Kelly Lake. We got one of only a few sites left and quickly set up camp.
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We were only about halfway through the rum when a couple of young guys pull into the site beside us in an old ¼ ton truck. They were friendly enough and soon we were chatting with them about camping in the area and biking and such. They definitely had a hippie “bent”, and one of them didn’t like the idea that boil-in-a-bag meals came in plastic pouches. We shared our rum with them anyway, and they broke out a bottle of their homemade wine. By the time both bottles were done, one hippie was telling us about his days training as a shamanistic landscaper in Kenya (he can create a spring on your land just by digging a hole in the right place and sacrificing the right number of frogs and chickens), while the other one regaled us with tales of his days as a hip-hop artist in Uganda. Needless to say both of these guys were an endless source of entertainment (even if it did cost us half a bottle of rum). It was at this point that Hammy quietly slips away and starts setting up some of his camera gear. The Shaman-Hippie landscaper (who was also a documentarian in his spare time don’t you know) picks up on what Hammy was doing and offers to help. Hammy must have spent 12-15 mins setting up a prolonged exposure shot of the big tree by our site. This hippie did a fairly good job helping right up until there was about 5 secs left on the exposure. That’s when he decided to stick his smelly unshaven hippie face in front of the camera.
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That pic always makes me laugh. Hammy eventually got the shot he wanted sans hippies.
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One hippie crashed in the back of their truck while the other set up a tent without a fly, then threw a painters drop-cloth over it. We crashed out discussing exactly how many frogs and or chickens would have to be sacrificed to supply some of the waterslide parks we had seen along the way. We decided it didn’t really matter, and tried our best to get some sleep. If all went to plan (our new plan anyway), tomorrow we would be on the Island!!
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DAY 5

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It was actually a little chilly waking up this morning. We got packed up pretty quick and even had the hippies over for a half cup of fresh coffee (courtesy of Hammy’s jetboil). We hit the road and took this little gravel road that ran right along the edge of the lake. It led to a set of steep gravel switchbacks.
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That picture was actually on the way down, the way up was 14%. Once on top of the plateau, the land opened up and the views were great (if a little smoky).
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As we hopped back onto the highway we saw a couple of RCMP cruisers beating it north. Once we reached Lillooet we met some more Mounties. These ones were blocking the road and shaking their heads at us. “Heading to Lillooet?” he asks. “Well through it” I reply. “Not anymore, we just finished evacuating the town”. The fire had come to within one km of the town limits and they had been evacuating citizens all night. I tell him we’re trying to get to Vancouver and he points us along a detour across the river from town. We stop at the local gas station/bakery for some fresh baked breakfast and fuel, and we end up speaking with some of the locals. A lot of them had to leave their pets in their homes, and were getting worried. There was also some grumbling about how earlier in the week, some of the firefighters fighting the nearby blaze had been called off to fight another smaller one near Whistler. You can actually see the fire across the valley from the bikes in this shot.
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We decided to b-line it straight to the ferry at Horseshoe Bay before we got re-routed by anymore forest fires. The Sea-to-Sky highway was nice, although the long weekend traffic was a bugger! We rolled into the ferry terminal with the boat about halfway loaded. They waved us to the front of the line where a few other bikers were waiting. They got us on that boat and had us all tucked in the back corner.
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I hadn’t been on a big BC Ferry for years and boy have they changed. This one had 2 Starbucks, a White Spot restaurant, gift shops, and an arcade. We toured around for a bit before grabbing a quick bite and unloading in Nanaimo.
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We needed to find a car wash. Not that we thought the bikes were too dirty or anything, but after the sand, dust and ash we had ridden through in the last couple of days, we felt our chains needed a bit of maintenance. So first to the car wash to clean the big stuff off, then over to Canadian Tire for some chain lube. As we’re cleaning the bikes I go to take my helmet off my GPS mount and break the bloody thing right off. &^%$$%*^!! Oh well, we’re off to Crappy Tire anyway, we’ll have to see if they have a replacement for my RAM mount. We hit the liquor store (for what else…rum) and hit up the CT. No RAM mounts, but we got the chain lube we needed and headed off to Qualicum. A buddy of ours from Courtney was supposed to meet up with us for the night and ride with us to Tofino, so we called Tony and let him know we were on the Island. We got a spot right across the road from the ocean, stuck right beside two giant RVs. Our neighbours for the evening (Ray and Marie) were great and very friendly. He was from small town Saskatchewan, and she was from Edmonton so we had plenty to talk about.
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A little while later we met the neighbour on the other side, and it turns out he worked for Hammy’s cousin some years back. Small world. Well enough socializing. We had about an hour and a half till Tony arrived, so we headed out to enjoy some of the local cuisine. We had been living off beef jerky and boil-in-a-bag meals up until the night before, and we couldn’t pass up the fresh seafood, so we headed out.
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As we cruised back into Qualicum, we passed a place called “The Shady Rest”. There were already a few bikes parked outside, which we took as a good omen. We chowed down to some FRESH seafood sitting right on the ocean. After eating we headed back to camp planning to pick up some ice on the way home. Had we thought about it, we would have realized that ice in the middle of the tourist belt, when the weather is 35 degrees or worse would be difficult. We hit every gas station, convenience store, restaurant, or gift shop we could find. Nothing. Tony would be getting to camp soon, and we had promised him an ice-cold rum and coke when he arrived. I checked out the camp store (with no success) while Hammy drove a little past our campground to a gas station he had seen in the distance. He returned a conquering hero.
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Soon Tony arrived and we got down to the serious business of finishing off yet another bottle of rum.
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There were three of us now, so it actually proved quite easy. In fact we polished off the dozen beers Tony brought as well. We finished off the evening on the beach, yelling profanities at the otters. Tomorrow….Tofino.
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DAY 6

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We rolled out of the tent in reasonable time. We had some jetboil coffee and chatted with Ray and Marie some more.
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Tony had to run back home to Courtney for the day, but would hopefully be able to meet us again in Tofino later that night. We waved goodbye to Tony and kept heading west. In a rare bit of foresight, we had booked a campsite in Long Beach (just south of Tofino), so we took a pretty relaxed approach to the day&#8217;s ride. Our first stop was Port Alberni, where we stopped for a late breakfast. As a couple of prairie-boys, we took advantage of the fresh seafood as often as we could.
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As far as slab goes, the Pacific Rim Highway was awesome!! Plenty of twists and turns and ups and downs. The scenery was great&#8230;at least the scenery we could see. It seemed the further west we got the cloudier/foggier it got. The last time we saw the sun for 2 days was when we passed Sproat Lake.
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It&#8217;s not that the weather got bad or anything (I think the high each day was close to 25), but it was just always cloudy and overcast. There were passing lanes every few kms or so. So even if you got stuck behind some RV/Tourbus, relief was only a few kms ahead. I think this was one of those times Hammy was glad he had traded the KLR for a Versys.
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The Pacific Rim Highway is just one of &#8220;those roads&#8221; that you have to run if you&#8217;re in the area. Despite the traffic, it was still an amazing ride. You&#8217;re in that zen place where the road is a continuous grey wave you&#8217;re riding with, rather than on. The scenery (breathtaking as it is) is simply framing the view out of your visor as you focus on truly riding &#8220;with&#8221; the road. The kms just seemed to disappear, and we were done before we knew it. We assaulted Incinerator Rock and marked our success at reaching the west coast of the Island!!
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The dude at the Long Beach campground gave us some strange, if not welcome news. For some reason they were not included in the province-wide fire ban, and we could have a fire!! Never ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, we threw camp together and headed into town to see the sights.
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Right in the middle of the commercial area there&#8217;s this lonely little house. The sign out front seems to indicate the occupant has a &#8230;.strange sense of humour.
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Tony eventually caught back up to us and we headed out to a highlight of the entire trip. Since we made the decision to head to Tofino months ago, Hammy had been promising to treat me to a crab dinner. I held him to it and we headed off to &#8220;The Sea Shanty&#8221; to make him pay-up. It was AWESOME!!
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Along the way we had slowly been learning a lesson. Whenever you&#8217;re faced with the question of whether or not you should do something (anything) as opposed to just saying &#8220;ahhh let&#8217;s skip it&#8221;, the answer has to be &#8220;yes!&#8221;. We had been slowly learning that lesson from saying &#8220;yes&#8221; to the Gang Ranch Road, and saying &#8220;no&#8221; to stopping along the Gang Ranch Road to take pics (something I regretebly take responsibility for). The question was raised, should we ride out onto the pier and take a few pics? We were stuffed, tired, and smelly. The idea of sitting around a campfire getting hosed was awfully appealing, but after learning our lesson we said &#8220;YES!&#8221;
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It was then back to camp for the aforementioned campfire and rum.
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Cruising on Collector Plates: From the saddle of The Shadow.

&#8220;Crap&#8221; I thought to myself after reading Hammy&#8217;s Blackberry message. Friggin&#8217; fire had stopped them at Aneheim Lake. A quick Googling showed road conditions for BC: all good but a thick red line running along highway 20 from Aneheim Lake to Bella Coola. A desperate search of Google Earth from the captain&#8217;s chair in my basement office showed me what I already knew. The massive inlets ripping into the North-central BC coastline completely prevent any kind of travel in a southwest direction so my idea of Hammy and Whitey picking there way to Powell River and taking the ferry across to Comox (near where The Shadow and I were waiting) would not fly. They had planned to come across on the &#8220;Big Boat&#8221; into &#8216;Hardy and after an overnight somewhere there I&#8217;d ride up and meet them in Campbell River, escort them down to Courtenay to show Hammy my new pad before continuing on out to Tofino for promises of Crab Feasts and Rum drinking. Now it looked like they might not even get to drop a kickstand on the island. I traced the tracks of the highways of the Caribou Interior and down into the lower mainland. Mulling it over I thought that if they were up for it they could backtrack and head down to Cache Creek, then take 99 through Whistler and onto North Van to be robbed by BC Ferries at Horseshoe Bay and be in Nanaimo by the next day and be on schedule for Tofino. A quick Dingleberry message to that effect sent to Hammy and on with my day hunting Uranium from my basement.

I didn&#8217;t here from Hammy &#8216;till the next day and was thinking that the boys might have cut there losses and headed else ware in the interior. My dingleberry chimed and low and behold, they&#8217;re on the damn ferry and did I want to meet up with them somewhere between Nanaimo and Port Alberni? Frig Yeah! Loading my bag and sleeping gear on to my 1983 Honda Shadow 500 I started to have flashbacks of riding the same rig from Calgary to the Island a couple times 6 years ago and started wondering if my ass and bike were up to the challenge again. The bike looked alright and had been a faithful mount since I bought it in 2002 but it did have some oil incontinent issues to go along with its 25 year age and shiny collector plates. Two signs you&#8217;re getting old: you&#8217;re snug leather jacket is now suffocating, and bikes you remember as new models are now eligible for collector status. I knew it&#8217;d do it though; poor thing must be feeling cooped up only doing short stints to local coffee shops and runs to Blockbuster. Time to blow the carbon out! My ass on the other hand was slightly wider now with a little more cushion so this short little adventure shouldn&#8217;t be too bad.

I snagged a chunk of vac-packed smoked spring salmon my dad had done out of the freezer and threw it in along with my gear and a few tools &#8220;just in case&#8221;. I left room to stuff in a case of my new favourite brew for the guys to try: Surgenor Brewing out of Comox with snazzy aluminium bottles. Suit up, key on, and stab the starter and The Shadow growled to life and then settled to a subdued V-twin thud-thud-thud-thud. I was pulling out of the driveway a minute later when things had warmed up enough to run off-choke. I had to satisfy myself with short little blips of the throttle grinding through the slow traffic of my sleepy valley town. Finally the traffic cleared out in front of me 5 minutes south of town and I started to open the throttle a bit more and pull another gear or two. As I cruised along 2 lane blacktop build 10 feet above the high-tide line I confirmed yet again that the 19A is the only way to ride up or down island. The smell of the ocean air and the wind-blast killing off the 30+ heat we&#8217;d been having was what it was all about. The &#8220;shiznit&#8221; as the kids say these days. I couldn&#8217;t keep the grin off my face and I pulled harder out of every turn (near stand-still by GSXR standards but feels fast to me). Every bike that passes waves (except of course the Harley snobs and scooter wankers, though a couple Electro-glides did) and I&#8217;m feelin&#8217; all warm and fuzzy listening to the V-45 make up my own little theme song. As I&#8217;m soaking it all in lookin&#8217; out over Qualicum Bay I realize a second too late that I&#8217;m burning past Whitey and Hammy&#8217;s campsite and grab the binders, swing the bike around and pull in. I find the two hooligans I&#8217;m seeking stuffed in the very back corner of the campsite between a 5th wheel with more floor space than my first 4 apartments combined, and a motor home that&#8217;d win a demo-derby with any Greyhound bus and looked like a brown and gold Military command post with pop-outs and awnings everywhere. A few waves, handshakes and after setting up a place to sleep out came the salmon, beef jerky, beer and Hammy&#8217;s bottle of rum. After Whitey got a little update up about the ride via the sketchy wireless the campsite had we proceeded to tie one on while they regaled me with tales from the Big Trip 2009 about hippies, skidplates, fires and ferry-boats. Finally we packed it in and I remembered why I avoided sleeping in the same room with Hammy the whole summer I tree-planted with him: the man can drown out a CF-18 with his damn snoring. Should have bummed some earplugs when I was still sober!

The next morning came a bit early, having 5 hours of sleep perforated by Hammy&#8217;s amazing unconscious symphony and squirming around on my &#8220;Original Thermarest&#8221;. I don&#8217;t know how I ever spent 3 months sleeping on that thing, guess I was slightly svelter then&#8230; We got up and started to slowly take stock, get dressed and pack up. Little did we know we were the morning&#8217;s entertainment for the prairie schooners parked around us as the inhabitants of these portable behemoths were lined up in there lawn chairs to watch the three motor-bikers start packing up. They were a very friendly audience though and interested in all aspects of the Big Trip 2009 machines. Hammy&#8217;s Jet-Boil stove drew a particularly loud chorus of ooo&#8217;s and ahhs as he boiled up some coffee to try to clear the morning cobwebs. We finally had everything packed up and the empties taken care of and bidding adieu to our camper-bound fan club we rolled out of the campground. The boys and I parted ways temporarily as I had a prior commitment at home I had to zip off to but we planned to meet up with later In Tofino.

Later that day I picked up some pepperoni from my favourite local butcher and I was off again to meet up with the boys. I was running late and so against my better judgement I climbed the Comox Valley Parkway to highway 19, a fast but characterless divided highway that always makes my 500 seem like a 125, but I wanted to make some time and get out to the &#8220;Wet Coast&#8221; in time for beer and crab. Cruising down to the turn off at Qualicum was not nearly as enjoyable as the previous night&#8217;s sojourn along the 19A &#8220;Oceanside Route&#8221; but it cut a solid 15 minutes and I was over to Port Alberni in no time. A quick fill at the Cheveron (The Shadow has discerning tastes and enjoys a fine litre or two of 94 octane). And I was off on Highway 4 to Uclulet/Tofino. I&#8217;d driven the route many times, the last of which was in a ¾ ton with a camper but had never had the chance to ride it. What a freekin&#8217; hoot! The first section pulling up past Sproat Lake wasn&#8217;t anything special and the wind gusts off the lake had me wiggling around in the lane pretty good but then it tightened up. I lucked out and had open road ahead and behind as often you get stuck behind trucks, RV&#8217;s or freaked-out prairie drivers crawling around the turns. The shoulder turned into guard rail or rock face and a sign stating &#8220;Windy Road Next 8 km&#8221; announce the fun was beginning. I freely admit I am no super-bike champ and my corning is pretty sloppy but it was still a blast. At more than one section I found myself banking into a left hand corner marked 30km to find the road banking hard to the right as I came out of the apex while falling down an 18% grade, plus a few slumping cracks and a bit of gravel thrown in for good measure. I tried to take in the scenery as well but the serpentine lanes ahead held my attention most of the time.

All too soon I pulled into the campsite the boys were staying in, a much nicer locale then the last with trees bordering the site rather than busses and trailers. I was just in time to head in to the town of Tofino (15 minutes north) for the crab feast that Hammy had been promising Whitey for months prior. I followed their slightly newer mounts (only about 24 years the junior of mine) as we banked and twisted past surf board rentals, campsites and resorts. It&#8217;s blazingly obvious what this town&#8217;s main source of revenue is! We made a bee-line to the Sea Shanty restaurant where after a 30 minute wait we were sipping some excellent Caesars and dining on some uber-fresh seafood. You could see the floats for the crab traps dotting the water in the southern part of the bay the restaurant was overlooking. Hammy and Whitey destroyed a couple of Dungeness that were likely scurrying across the bay that morning as I dismantled some shellfish. Once the carnage was over we had a brief photo session on the dock, jawing with some sportbike riders while Hammy did his strobie-photo thing. A quick stop at the beer and wine for a case of Blue Buck (brewed in Esquimalt) and a jaunt back to the camp site and we were once again solving all the world&#8217;s problems while draining the beer, rum, and the pepperoni inventory.

The next day came early again but at least I had the forethought to mooch a pair of ear plugs before Hammy had fallen asleep! We packed up (without an audience this time) and headed for Uclulet for breaky at Rooster&#8217;s Café. Soon after we were off again banking and climbing our way back to Port Alberni, stopping at the Stonehenge-like boulders at Ellis Creek for a photo-op. After gassing up at the Cheveron in Alberni I was elected to be the lead camera bike and so with the camera mounted to my bike facing the two hooligans behind, we pulled out and made our way to Cathedral Grove (big freekin&#8217; trees). While approaching one of the more interesting corners on the north shore of Cameron Lake I slowed down to bring the boys in closer for a good shot as they banked underneath the rock overhang with the aqua-blue water in the background. Watching in my vibration-blurred mirrors, I started giggling to myself thinking &#8220;That&#8217;s the money shot!&#8221;

We finally parted ways at Coombs (Goats on the Roof Market) as Hammy and Whitey headed for the ferry in Nanaimo to continue the rest of their trek. After a fond farewell I turned north (on the 19A again) and cruised on home, reflecting on my short touring stint with the two Iron Buts. I started to think that maybe I should be getting a bigger bike, hard bags&#8230;but I look down, give the sun-faded tank of The Shadow an affection pat before I twist the throttle and pull another gear past Denman Island.

I'll do my best to fill supplement what Tony's already written. He was a great riding buddy, and a blast to have around.


DAY 7

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Hammy snores like ……well I can’t think of anything that even comes close, so let’s just say he snores BAD!! I learned my lesson early this year and always kept a pair of earplugs nearby. Tony had to re-learn this lesson the hard way the night before. It was actually a good thing this morning as the campground was home to a nasty murder of crows that loved to scream at each other and rip up people’s sites. Hammy’s nocturnal battle-cry kept them on the opposite side of the campground, so we woke up to an unmolested site and poop-free bikes. We packed up and headed south to Ucluelet, stopping off at Incinerator Rock for a few more pics.
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and my personal favorite….
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We got to Ucluelet and grabbed a quick breakfast in town before heading back down the Pacific Rim Highway. Our only real goal for that day was to be back on the mainland before camping for the night, so we took a relaxed approach and stopped to smell the roses (or cedars as the case may be) along the way. Our first stop was Ellis Creek. A collection of big boulders surrounding a crystal clear creek.
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I was actually curious about the rock formations, but knew better than to ask either of the others (both geologists) as they would spend the next few hours telling me the close personal intimate history of each rock, stone or pebble they could find. As I said, I wanted to make it to the mainland before dark. I might have mentioned this before, but that highway is awesome. We soon got back into the groove of the road, and the kms just melted away. Another stop at Cathedral Grove to check out the giant cedars.
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We had another really brief stop for a photo-op that couldn’t be missed.
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My wife had been on the island about a month earlier and told us to check out the place in Coombs with the goats on the roof. Sounded interesting, but I got distracted with something else and forgot to ask any follow-up questions like “What place in Coombs with the goats on the roof?”. Fortunately that kind of thing kinda stands out, so all we had to do is mention “that place with the goats on the roof” and Tony knew exactly what we were talking about. I’m not sure how to describe this place other than a tourist trap, but some of the buildings have sod roofs and sure enough there were goats on the roof. It was brutally hot out, so the poor little fellas were laying down in the shade of the chimney. Too hard to get a good photo. We walked around for a bit and saw a few sights.
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Nothing of too much interest….just a lot of typical tourist crap. Then we got a taste of some live entertainment on the way out.
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Already emotional from that moving performance, we bid farewell to Tony and made our way to the ferry terminal. Tony was a great riding buddy and was always good for a laugh. And his bike is awesome. Not enough back-road capability for me, but that 1983 Shadow 500 was pretty cool. Next time I’m gonna ask if I can take it for a rip. We hopped on the ferry in Nanaimo and made the voyage east back to Horseshoe Bay. We were up at the bow checking out the scenery, and I see Hammy pointing his camera at the deck. I’m checking out an incredible view of the sea and sky, and this guy is taking pictures of a rusty piece of metal. I learned a long time ago not to question Hammy’s photo taking.
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Once we got to Horseshoe Bay we made the decision to get the f$%@ out of Metro Vancouver as soon as friggin’ possible. We had full tanks (but no rum), so we hit the shore running and never looked back. Having an unexplainable aversion to Highway 1, we took Highway 7 on the north side of the Fraser. Traffic was brutal from right off the ferry and stayed that way until we hit Mission, then things opened up again. We spied a liquor store right off the highway (next to the Mission RCMP Detachment) and took the opportunity to grab some rum. There was a sign in the window that said “free ice”. We still had more than 50 kms to go, but hey, we’re cheap bastards so we grabbed a bag of ice too and strapped it to the back of Hammy’s bike and decided to see how long a bag of ice would last in +33 temps. Our goal was to make it to Harrison to check out the Harrison Hot Springs. We misjudged how much the Vancouver traffic slowed us down and didn’t make into Harrison until after 10:00. We managed to get a campsite, but were too late for the hot springs. No worries. We took advantage of a powered site to charge up the gear, and were surprised to see the ice had stood up fairly well. Well enough for us to polish off yet another bottle of Appleton’s anyway.
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DAY 8

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Harrison didn&#8217;t have too much to offer, so we packed up quick and hit the road. We stopped twice that morning. Once for a quick photo-op at Hope, and then again at Vermillion Forks to cool our feet. After that, we kept pushing east towards the Okanagan.
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I had been through this area about a month earlier and had the good fortune to have ridden the Nickle Plate Road. It&#8217;s a great gravel road that goes up and over the mountain from Hedley to Penticton. We were probably less than 5mins in and we run across some familiar faces (kind of). I rolled around a bend to see a KTM coming the other way. I pull over and it turns out to be DR600, a fellow member of one of our local bike clubs. About a second later, another member, XT600 comes around the corner and we stop to shoot the $hit for a while.
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They were on a similar journey, heading from Edmonton to Bamfield riding dirt and gravel as much as they could. The heat was bad enough when you were moving, but was damn near unbearable when stopped. We waved goodbye to the boys, and kept heading east on the Nickle Plate Road. Almost anyone who rides this road stops at a specific spot to snap a pic, and enjoy a spectacular view of the road. Who were we to mess with tradition?
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As we were putting the cameras away to keep going, we spy another biker coming up the behind us. He&#8217;s still a far way away so we look at each other and ask, &#8220;should we wait to see who this might be?&#8221;. Having already learned our lesson&#8230;.the answer is always &#8220;yes!&#8221;.
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About 5 mins later this guy on an old KLR pulls up and we get to chatting. His name&#8217;s Bill (hereafter referred to as Wild Bill), and he was a local out for a day ride. A great guy. He stopped and chatted with us, and ended up riding with us all the way to Penticton. He was a hobby photographer too, but hadn&#8217;t made the switch to digital yet. He had been living/riding in the area for years, so it was like having our own personal guide. He knew the history of the road, could point out areas previously devastated by fire but were now a vibrant green, and rode like a wild-man. He pointed out stuff we never would have seen, like an old abandoned tipi right by an eagles nest. Like I said&#8230;a great guy. Once we finished the Nickle Plate, we took the Apex Alpine road into Penticton. Another road that seems to have been designed with bikers in mind. It&#8217;s like someone left an old roller coaster track out in the woods, and someone else decided to pave it. It wasn&#8217;t without is dangers though. As we came screaming out of one corner, Wild Bill throws on the binders. I come to a screeching stop beside him and see what caused the hold-up. A black bear cub (only a month or two old) was crossing the road. Knowing Mama was likely only yards away trying to decide what kind of wine goes with bikers, we waited a second or two for junior to make it off the road, then kept going. We invited Wild Bill out for a drink and a bite in Penticton, but he had plans and was already running a little late. We headed off to the Okanagan Lake side of town and parked right along the beach while we enjoyed some Mexican food at the Vallerta Grill. Deeeeeliscious. And the beach scenery wasn&#8217;t bad either
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We headed south to Gallagher Lake and tried to get a campsite. Nope no good. We pushed on to Inkaneep. All full. We tried an &#8220;RV resort&#8221; on Oliver Lake. Despite having close to a dozen clearly vacant spots, they said they can&#8217;t take tenters, only RVs. Sigh. One more spot to try in the town of Oliver. We roll in, and they have one spot left. We take it (fully serviced) and start to set up camp. We hadn&#8217;t even got the tent unrolled when all of the sudden this old guy shows up from a nearby trailer and growls at Hammy, &#8220;We&#8217;re awful particular about our site boundaries around here. Watch it.&#8221;. Hammy and I look around at our gi-normous motorhome-sized site and our lonely little tent and wonder what the %#$@ this guy is talking about. He stomps off and we try to put it out of minds. As we keep setting up camp, we keep seeing this same old guy peering around corners at us, giving us the stink-eye. This guy was the grumpiest old bugger I have ever seen. Hence, we began to refer to him as Walter Matthau (or just Walter). The site had power, so Hammy goes over to plug in some of our gear. The power outlet was on a post that was shared with the site beside us (not Walters), so as Hammy is plugging something in, he puts his camera down on the bumper of the trailer in that site next to us. In a flash, Walter was on the scene. &#8220;What are you doing? Does the guy in that site know you&#8217;re doing that? This is what I was talking about!&#8221;. Often a cooler-head, Hammy asks him what exactly his problem is (even calling him &#8220;sir&#8221, and he tells us &#8220;I knew you guys would be trouble the second you pulled in.&#8221; and storms off. After taking a few deep breaths, I finish setting up camp, and head off to the camp store/office to grab some ice. Damn, does a rum sound good right about now. As soon as I walk into the office, the girl behind the desk asks if we&#8217;ve had troubles with our neighbour. Huh?? Actually, we&#8217;ve been harassed by the ghost of Walter Matthau since we got here. How did you know? &#8220;Oh, he was just in here complaining about you guys.&#8221; She says. I don&#8217;t believe this. I ask her if she could tell us what we did, cause when we asked him he wouldn&#8217;t tell us. She kind of smiles. &#8220;That&#8217;s funny.&#8221; She says. &#8220;He couldn&#8217;t ell me what you had done either.&#8221; &#8220;He just kept telling me he thought you were trouble.&#8221; She was very understanding, and explained we weren&#8217;t the first victims of Walter&#8217;s &#8220;trouble-sense&#8221;. I got the ice, and went back to the site to make sure Walter hadn&#8217;t called up some buddy (let&#8217;s call him Jack Lemmon) to help him run these young whippersnappers out of his campgound. Much to my relief, no Jack Lemmon appeared. Walter wasn&#8217;t much of a factor after that. We settled into our regular routine of rum-drinking, file transferring, and neighbour-meeting. One of our neighbours was a guy named Reg who worked at a Porsche dealership in Vancouver. We invited him over for a rum, and soon his wife joined us too. Really nice people, and just what we needed after the chilly reception from Walter earlier in the evening. For some reason I fell asleep with the &#8220;Odd Couple&#8221; theme playing in my head.
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DAY 9

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Hammy got up before me and managed to sneak out of the tent. He went down to the beach and snapped a few pics as the sun was coming up. He also managed to sneak a shot of Walter as he prepared for another long day of protecting the campground from trouble-makers like us.
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We packed up without much fuss. Our buddy from the night before, Reg, came to see us off, and we hit the road. We had to make it to the Nelson area this evening, because we were meeting another buddy Steve. For those of you who remember last year’s trip, Steve was the guy who put us up in his tent trailer when we came through Nelson in 2008. He had since bought Hammy’s KLR, and desperately wanted to join in on our camping fun, so he would be meeting us wherever we decided to camp. We had made up our minds awhile ago that if we could, we would try to stay and the legendary Toad Rock Motorcycle Campground. That was our goal and we put our minds to it. We made good mileage that day, sticking to the slab and putting the hammer down.
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We rolled into Toad Rock and before we could even get our helmets off, Mary was there to welcome us. She gave us each a big hug and gave us the run-down on the campground (one of the coolest places ever!).
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As we’re chatting with Mary, she asks if we were there for the show. “What show?” we ask. “The KGB…the Kootenay Gut-Buster” she replies. Huh? I immediately envisioned a bunch of Harley-riders in a chili-eating contest. Mary explains that the KGB is a stand-up comedy show that had been started the year before. The show would start in a few hours, and tickets were $40 (camping included). She asked us if we wanted tickets, we looked at each other and said “the answer is always yes!” We set up camp and called Steve in Nelson to let him know we had arrived.
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We broke out the rum and had just started to relax, when through the trees I spy a 1000cc V-Strom with a very distinctive paint job. “I know that guy!” I yell, and start sprinting through campsites to try and cut him off. I catch up to the bike, and sure enough, it’s my good buddy Stoney from the V-Strom club in Edmonton.
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He and few buddies had made the ride out earlier, and were just heading off to hit the nearby hot springs before the comedy show started. I invited him over for a rum when he got back from the hot springs, and made my way back to camp. Steve arrived shortly after and we quickly settled in to our regular routine.
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As we were relaxing we ended up speaking with a few of the comics. One of them (Daryll Makk) rode a Bandit, but was really interested in getting a V-strom. We chatted for a bit before he had to go get ready for the show. We met up with Stoney again, and headed down to the Pavilion for the comedy. What a great time!! The show is aptly named because after two hours, my sides were killing me from laughing so hard. We stumbled back to the campsite and crashed out almost immediately. We didn’t know exactly where we were heading tomorrow, but that kind of stuff never really seemed important.

Love the photos Hammy! You'll have to send me the one of The Shadow with the bars and tank in the foreground and long beach in the background. That'll go on the wall!
T