Tag: Canada

My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part V

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on the final stretch of my epic 11-week solo motorcycle journey on Tippi, my trusted Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, evoked a whirlwind of emotions. From Sedona, Arizona, through the diverse terrains of Utah, Nevada, California, and Oregon, each mile etched an unforgettable mark on my soul. Navigating the enchanting trails of the Olympic Peninsula on my slow crawl to Canada, every road whispered tales of resilience, liberation, and the joy of exploration. Each mile felt like a chapter—a blend of nostalgic past adventures and an eager anticipation for the unknown ahead. This last leg wasn’t just a ride; it was a transformative passage that shaped me, kindling a sense of wonder, fortitude, and an unyielding thirst for the uncharted.

After crossing the Astoria Bridge into Washington, a short ride brought me to my niece’s home in Westport. Nestled in a community rich in fishing heritage and coastline, Michelle, Mike, and their kids embodied a close-knit family life filled with outdoor adventures. What began as a brief stop extended to a 3-night stay, finding solace by the captivating shoreline. Continuing the journey with Mike leading the way, we explored scenic backroads and Highway 101, culminating in my first ferry trip aboard Tippi to Edmond, Washington.

We quickly stopped for some incredible tacos before continuing to see my adventurous 90+-year-old mother, just back from an epic cruise to Alaska. She regaled us with tales of her thrilling zip line adventure—so high and long that my sister opted for the gondola ride, watching our daring mother zoom by! Our time together, though brief, was filled with laughter and stories of adventure before I hit the road again, heading towards more family just a few hours away.

My ride to visit my sister and her husband at their enchanting cabin east of Granite Falls was swift. The primary purpose of this visit, alongside my travels through multiple states, was to gather and honor the memory of my beloved nephew, Brandon. A decade has passed since his tragic loss to brain cancer, leaving an irreplaceable void in our lives. The remembrance brought together both family and friends, a day spent in heartfelt reminiscence and reconnection. My sister, Deb, and her husband, Jim, seasoned sailors, spun tales that seemed to fill more than a lifetime’s worth of adventures. The days melted away as we relaxed in the tranquility of their picturesque cabin by the river.

After luxuriating for four nights, Tippi and I reluctantly bid farewell to embark on our journey to North Cascades National Park via the captivating routes of Highways 530 and 20. The morning air was crisp and invigorating, paired with the delightful twists and turns that entertained both me and Tippi. The park’s cloudless skies gifted us a rare visual feast. At the same time, the scarcity of traffic afforded precious moments to drink in the awe-inspiring panoramic views, such as the breathtaking Diablo Lake.

Further along our route, multiple pit stops and a restful night in the quaint western town of Winthrop, Washington, brought us tantalizingly close to the Canadian border. The journey along Highway 20 and the extended loop through Kettle Springs via Highway 395 bestowed upon me splendid views of the majestic Columbia River and the winding Kettle River before my solitary crossing into Canada at the serene expanse of Christina Lake.

Christina Lake’s allure was magnetic—a vast expanse fed by hot springs boasting the warmest waters in British Columbia, offering a tranquil respite. Energized and eager, I embarked on my next destination, Nakusp, for a riders’ gathering with Horizons Unlimited. A weekend of camaraderie and epic tales of global adventures awaited, including the awe-inspiring journey of a dear friend, Wayne Kouf, as he traveled from Canada to the tip of South America.

As was one of the main themes of my journey, I was once again saying my farewells to newfound friends as I pulled out of the campground to embark on the exploration of Banff, the Ice Fields, and Jasper. Despite planning a direct route on Highways 2 and 1, fellow riders advocated a detour closer to the border. The diversion led me towards Highway 31A to Balfour, where the longest free ferry ride in Canada awaited—a journey meandering alongside a lake to Creston, ending at the home of a riding comrade, Jody.

After an enchanting evening with Jody and his wife, savoring local wines and their tales of adventures, we reluctantly bid each other goodnight. Jody led the way on his BMW the next morning, guiding us through superior back routes toward Banff. As foreboding clouds gathered, he wisely turned back, leaving me to face an imminent storm that unleashed torrents of rain, hail, and fog upon my journey.

At last, I arrived in Banff under clear skies! A delightful two-night stay at Two Jack Campground unfolded with wildlife encounters, mesmerizing sunsets, and a lighthearted exchange with a Ranger regarding bear spray—affirming the amiable demeanor of Canadian bears.

The subsequent days were a whirlwind, exploring the lakes, trails, and the majestic Lake Louise before venturing along the Icefields Parkway in Alberta—a challenging yet breathtaking 144-mile scenic route through Banff and Jasper National Parks. A pause at a remote, off-grid hostel allowed both the physical and emotional respite I needed! I slept with peace despite a room full of men.  I spent the days filled with wildlife observation, the magic of Athabasca Falls and thoughtful planning for the journey ahead.

Reluctantly leaving the hostel, I caught a glimpse of Jasper before setting my sights on Mt. Robson, the towering pinnacle in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. From there, my journey through the mountains made its way towards Kamloops, a historic river ferry delivering me to the abode of Melanie, a truly exceptional rider. Gathered around for dinner were local riders, their camaraderie transforming the evening into a truly memorable encounter.

The next morning, Melanie and I embarked on a thrilling ride towards Whistler via the legendary Highway 99, a route destined to etch itself into my memory. Reluctantly bidding farewell to Melanie, I found a respite at a hostel nestled on the outskirts of Whistler, immersing myself in the awe-inspiring vistas. The following day, I embarked on the Sea to Sky Highway, Highway 99, enroute to the home of newfound friends I’d met during my time in Nakusp.

A brief stopover in Vancouver included a heartfelt reunion with a friend from Sedona and an embrace of warm hospitality from new acquaintances, setting the stage for a chilly, rain-soaked morning journey to the ferry terminal. This ferry would lead me to Pender Island and the sanctuary of Karen and Wayne’s idyllic home, perched above stunning views of the sound amid a serene fruit orchard.

I was enfolded by their sanctuary for three nights before hopping onto ferries, journeying to Salt Spring Island for a short but sweet visit with friends. Eventually, my path led me to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island, where I sought rest for the night. The following morning, we rode to Tofino, immersing myself in the town’s essence for several nights, exploring every nook and cranny, from the bustling streets to the expansive Long Beach. Subsequently, I found solace in camping at Ucluelet for two nights, discovering the untamed and authentic allure of the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island.

Spending five captivating nights absorbed in the wild embrace of the untamed West Coast reluctantly gave way to a journey along the backroads, savoring every moment by Cowichan Lake and basking in the sheer picturesque beauty of Port Renfrew. The coastal ride on Road 14 leading into Victoria was a spectacle to behold, painting a stunning portrait of nature’s allure. However, despite an entire week on Vancouver Island, it felt like I’d barely scratched the surface of its boundless treasures. This experience fueled a resolute determination to return, armed with Tippi, and unearth more of the island’s hidden gems waiting to be discovered.

A ferry ride from Victoria to Port Angeles led me to family friends who are seasoned globe-trotters and avid sailors. Their tales of adventures on the high seas enthralled me, offering a glimpse into their adventurous lives. Their home, a serene haven, was difficult to leave behind after two lovely nights.

Crossing that final ferry from Kingston into Edmonds, Washington, marked the poignant end of our remarkable 6700-mile journey. As Tippi’s three-cylinder engine hummed for the last time, an array of emotions swept over me—an amalgamation of triumph, nostalgia, and bittersweet closure.

This journey wasn’t merely a travelogue; it unfolded as an epic tale of self-discovery, resilience, and unspoken connections. It bestowed upon me the confidence to traverse vast distances riding solo, fostering encounters that enriched the very essence of my being. Amidst nature’s awe-inspiring grandeur and tempestuous weather, I forged deep bonds with fellow riders, weaving together memories that now compose the tapestry of cherished moments. My heart took this journey bruised and found solace and renewal in the liberating embrace of the open road. It transcended beyond a physical expedition—it became a profound emotional odyssey. Tippi and the open road weren’t simply an escape; they provided a sanctuary for introspection, solace, and rediscovery.

In this odyssey, Tippi evolved beyond a mere motorcycle; she transformed into an unwavering companion, accompanying me through every peak and valley, guiding me along uncharted paths as a steadfast confidante, offering unspoken reassurance and understanding. She remained my constant, always propelling me further.

My solo adventure reaffirmed a timeless truth: life’s most defining chapters often unfold in uncharted territories, far from the familiar comforts. It underscored that the most impactful moments, those that shape us profoundly, emerge when we embrace the unknown with open arms, daringly venturing beyond the confines of what we know.

By the Numbers:

    • 6700 +/- miles
    • 2 Countries /2 Provence’s /6 States
    • 2 Bike Drops
    • 3 wicked Hangovers
    • 3 Islands
    • 6 Canadian National Parks
    • 14 US National Parks
    • 9 Ferry Rides
    • 54 nights camping
    • 1000 amazing memories!

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget:  Visit our advertisers!

Digital Nomad: Victoria, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

Landing back in Boston mid-November, the only thing perfect was the weather.  Perfect for hypothermia, that is.  It didn’t take long in the cold and damp environment for me to realize that this would not be a suitable location for winter, especially after having been in tropical climates for the past 8 months.  Although the decision to not stay was an easy one, where to actually move opened up an entirely new set of questions. This part of the journey I had not planned for very well, or at all.  Well…time to pull out some maps and just as I had done in South America find a solution to the problem I now faced:  Where would be my new home?

I wasn’t a big fan of the southeastern states and hadn’t really explored many of the western ones.  Since the gray damp weather wasn’t something I wanted to deal with deciding to choose the Pacific Northwest probably wasn’t one of my better ideas, but I knew it wouldn’t be as cold in that area.  I was still feeling the culture shock of returning to the United States and after living in South America, the busy stressful vibe of the United States wasn’t tolerable.

Having narrowed the region down, the next step was to pinpoint a spot.  Looking at maps I noticed a rather large land mass not too far off of the coast of Seattle and Vancouver.  It was Vancouver Island, and the capital of British Columbia, Victoria, was there.  This seemed like a perfect place to call home until I could find a better location.

After a quick and uneventful drive cross country I was at the ferry terminal in Port Angeles, Washington, about to embark on another out-of-country adventure.  As soon as the Blackball ferry pulled into Victoria Harbor I knew this would be a fun place.  The Inner Harbour had a number of float planes landing and taking off, the Victoria Clipper (a high-speed catamaran) was there, and tugboat-like water taxis buzzed around the much larger Blackball ferry like mosquitos around an elephant. The entire inner harbor was just so alive.

Upon disembarking from the ferry there was a bit of a wait going through Canadian Customs where they scanned my passport and I confidently assured them I was visiting only for a week.  In all honestly, I really didn’t have much of an idea about the length of my visit, as my planning (much like today) is almost nonexistent. The next step was to find a place to stay for a week or so until I could get my bearings and determine if I wanted to stay here longer.  Having just driven over 3,000 miles I wasn’t in much of a rush to leave.

It didn’t take too long for me to find a cool hotel that allowed for longer stays near the center of town.  The hotel was a great selling point, not only for the location, but also because it had what was probably the best Chinese restaurant ever.  And if that wasn’t enough, there was the best dive bar attached to the hotel.  Even with the rainy weather that lowered my morale, the restaurant and the bar gave refuge and let me refill my endorphins.  This place would do nicely.

One of the best ways I’ve found to learn a new city is to go for long runs, get lost, and then learn the area.  Frequently during these runs I would find someone running the same pace and strike up a conversation.  This happened on one of my first days in Victoria.  I kept pace with a man a few years older than me, and as our conversation continued I jokingly explained I was here working remotely, possibly quite illegally, and we both had a good laugh.  Our finishing point was just after we crossed a bridge, when I introduced myself and he did the same.  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” he said. “I’m Dean, the Mayor of Victoria, but you can call me Mayor Dean.” He handed me a business card and invited me to visit his office if I needed anything.  My jaw was on the ground.  I expected Canadian Mounties or Immigration to jump from around the corner.  This, of course, didn’t happen (it was Canada and they are super-warm people, even to illegal visitors like me).

Despite the weather being a bit gray (which is to be expected in December in the Pacific Northwest), this island was a great choice.  Within two weeks it was obvious this was to be my home at least through the winter months (unless Mayor Dean disapproved).  It was time to find a longer-term rental on a month-to-month lease.  A month-to-month lease was quite a commitment for me (even more so since I probably wasn’t allowed to be in Canada for more than 90 days per their immigration laws), but that would be a problem for future Mike to deal with (which he did successfully several times).  It was now time to start exploring my new home and see what there was to offer this American traveler and digital nomad.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Help us bring more to you:  Please click on the popup ads!

Nick Adams

By Joe Berk

Sometimes you get lucky and a hidden Internet gem emerges.  NickAdamsWriting.com is that hidden gem for me.  I found it surfing the web for Moto Guzzi information.  I always wanted a Moto Guzzi, preferably an older classic, and when searching on that topic Nick’s website popped up.

Nick Adams is a guy my age who has cool website and an even cooler set of videos.  He’s based in Canada.  The video below about his ride across that great land is a treasure.  Nick is a skilled videographer and photographer, his narration is soothing, and the scenes and the story are magnificent.  The fact that he rides a classic V-twin Guzzi makes it a joy to watch.  My advice:  Grab a cup of coffee, click on the video, expand it to full screen, and enjoy.  I sure did.

Nick wrote a series of books on a variety of topics (including motorcycle touring).  I ordered one a few days ago (you might consider doing the same), and after I’ve read it I’ll post a review here.  I’m expecting a great read, and I intuitively know Nick won’t let me down.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Toad Rock Campground, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

When traveling I keep a loose schedule.  I talk to people along my journey and gain insight on what is best to see, and just as importantly, what is best to avoid. In 2017 while sitting outside Starbucks somewhere in Washington state a couple asked where I was headed (I ride a GS1200; frequenting Starbucks is an ownership obligation).  I didn’t have much of a destination in mind and the couple asked if I had my passport, which I did.  They recommended visiting Toad Rock Campground in British Columbia. Just like that, Toad Rock Campground became my weekend destination.

I entered Canada through Idaho.  It always seems once crossing the border everything just becomes more magnificent. Trees are larger, there is more wildlife, the mountains are higher, the water is bluer, you get the point.  I crossed the Canadian border at Rykerts, B.C.  This was a bit out of the way but it was what the couple had recommended.  The main reason (besides 3A being a phenomenal road) was that I would take the World’s Longest Free Ferry across Kootenay Lake to Balfour.  Once I disembarked the ferry in Balfour it was just a short hop to Toad Rock.  It turns out taking the longer route was absolutely the right call.

Arriving at Toad Rock, I dismounted from the GS and went to check in.  The lady running the camp stated it was full, but I could find a patch of grass in the back and set up camp. I signed in and paid (I want to say $10 CDN but don’t fully remember).  She then looked at me, pointed and said, “If you’re an asshole I will throw your ass OUT!”  To which I swiftly replied “Yes, Ma’am.” Later I found out she even makes motorcycle clubs remove their vests and colors to avoid any friction within the camp.  This was all fine with me.

I rode to the back forty to find my piece of lawn, which was located well outside the wooded main area.  The camp looked really cool with lights hung all through it to include a central gazebo with a stage, bar, and a very large refrigerator which was firmly held closed by a bungy cord.  I asked someone what the deal was with this cord.  They replied that there was a large pig that wandered the campground to scare the bears away and if you don’t bungy the refrigerator, the pig will open the door and drink all your beer.  Interesting indeed.

My camp was set up by 13:00 and I discovered a local loop for an afternoon blast around southern B.C. The loop entailed riding Route.31 around to Route 6.  From Route 6 I dropped down into Nelson, B.C. Nelson would make a great stopping point for a late lunch and has a quaint downtown area to walk around and stretch. The roads were in great shape and outside the mountain views being minimized from several wildfires it was a perfect June day to enjoy this part of the province.  What made the day even better was stopping twice to jump into an ice-cold mountain stream that hugged the road to cool off.  The streams were cold and refreshing, especially after riding in full gear during the peak of the day.

Upon leaving the streams my entire body would be tingling (like I just ate a piece of peppermint gum) from the extreme change in temperature it had just experienced.  Having been fully refreshed from my swims it was time to eat. My stomach was growling for a burger just as I entered the town of Nelson.  While eating a giant bacon burger and enjoying a cold Kokanee beer I suddenly heard a loud chopping through the air.  I recognized that sound from years before.  It was a Chinook helicopter coming to refill its water bucket in the lake to continue fighting the wildfires.  Once that show was over and my burger was finished it was time to head back to Toad Rock and see what was going on at camp for entertainment.  I would not be disappointed.

As I arrived at camp around 17:00 the pavilion in the middle was just getting warmed up and people were piling in serving drinks from the BYOB bar, retrieving beers from the refrigerator (and remembering to secure the beers from the thirsty pig), and talking with others. It wasn’t long before riders were randomly grabbing instruments to play music.  Everyone was welcoming as they took turns sharing their motorcycle adventure stories.

At this point I realized we all were in the middle of a great motorcycle story just living in the present here. The festivities continued late into the night.  As the night wore on and people slowly began to drift off to their campsites, I decided it was time to return to my tent as well.  The only problem was I couldn’t find my campsite. I knew it was in the lawn section but that seemed impossible to find as I went by the same tents a few times as I wearily followed the colored lights strung throughout the trees.  I began to worry that I’d have to locate the owner to ground guide me back to my campsite. Does meandering the campground hopelessly lost constitute being an asshole?  It was at this moment I saw a familiar landmark that marked my tent location and I haphazardly slid into my home for the evening. This was a day that fully encompassed what being a motorcyclist is all about: Living in the present, embracing each moment, and bonding with fellow riders.

Want to be thinner, ride faster, and look better?  Please click on the popup ads!

More riding in Canada?  You bet:  Check out the Three Flags Classic!

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

My 1st International Motorcycle Adventure, Eh?

Everybody has their preferred riding schtick and for me it’s international motorcycle travel.  Anyone can ride their cruiser to a local hangout for a beer or their GS to Starbuck’s for a $6 cup of coffee.  My riding is all about crossing international borders and collecting cool photos in places most two-legged mammals only dream about.  Just to make a point, I once rode a 150cc scooter (my CSC Mustang) to Cabo San Lucas and back.  The day after we returned, I needed something at Costco and I rode the little CSC there.  When I parked it, a beer-bellied dude in a gigondo 4×4 pickup told me, “that’s a little cute bike.”  He didn’t intend it to be a compliment.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I ride a (brand name deleted to protect the guilty),” he announced, his chest swelling with Made in ‘Merica pride to the point it almost equalled his waistline.   “We ride all over.”  He emphasized the “all” to make sure I got the point.

“Cool,” I said.  “Where do you go?”

Cook’s Corner, the ultimate So Cal burger/biker stand.

“Last week,” he told me, “we rode to Cook’s Corner!”

Cook’s Corner is a southern California burger joint about 40 miles from where we were talking.

“Where do you all go on that little thang?” He actually said “you all” and “thang,” but he didn’t have the accent to match the colloquialisms.  Okay, I had the guy dialed.

“Well, we rode to Cabo San Lucas and back last week.” I said.

Mr. 4×4’s jaw dropped.  Literally.  He looked at me, speechless, dumbfoundedly breathing through his open mouth.  Without another word he climbed into his big truck and rode off.  Our conversation was over.  So much for the biker brotherhood, I guess.

My 150cc CSC Baja Blaster. I had a lot of fun and covered a lot of miles on that little Mustang.

The international motorcycle travel bug bit me when I was still in school.  I had a ’71 Honda 750 Four back in the day (that’s me 50 years ago in the big photo up top).  One of my Army ROTC buddies had the first-year Kawasaki 500cc triple.  It was a hellaciously-fast two stroke with a white gas tank and  blue competition stripes.  We were in New Jersey and we wanted to do something different, so we dialed in Canada as our destination.  They say it’s almost like going to another country.

And so we left.  Our gear consisted of jeans, tennis shoes, windbreaker jackets, and in a nod toward safety, cheap helmets (ATGATT hadn’t been invented yet).  We carried whatever else we needed in small gym bags bungied to our seats.  Unfortunately, in those days “whatever else we needed” did not include cameras so I don’t have any photos from that trip.  That’s okay, because all they would have shown was rain.

A 1969 Kawasaki 500cc, two-stroke triple. Widowmakers, they were called, in a nod to their often unpredictable handling.

As two Army guys about to become Second Louies, we joked about being draft dodgers in reverse.  We were looking forward to active duty (me in Artillery and Keith in Infantry).  We were going to Canada not to duck the draft, but as a fling before wearing fatigues full time.  We didn’t really know what we were doing, so we took freeways all the way up to the border. It rained nearly the entire time.  All the way up and all the way back.  We bought sleeping bags because they looked cool on the bikes (it was a Then Came Bronson thing), but we stayed in hotels.  It was raining too hard to camp, and besides, the sleeping bags were soaked through and we didn’t think to bring a tent.  We got as far as Montreal, which seemed far enough to give us Canada bragging rights.  We spent that single Montreal night in a cheap dive and pointed the bikes south the next day.

These days, I know to check the weather, bring rain gear (even if none is forecast), and study a map to find the most interesting roads (rather than the fastest).  But hey, we were young and dumb, it was an adventure ride, it crossed an internationational border, and riding four days in a steady cold rain was a lot of fun.  I didn’t think so at the time, but that’s how I remember it today.  In fact, I remember that ride like it was last month.  And it got me hooked on international motorcycle adventures.  Canada was to be the first of many.

Never miss an ExNotes blog.  Sign up here for free, unless you have a .ru in your email address!

More epic international rides?  Right here, folks!