LIFE... is a Beach!

I slithered (there is no better way to describe the last 3 kilometers) my way to the top of County Line rd.  It had been a very long time since I had ridden anything with knobby tires, on slimy, shiny, bright red mud. 

ISLAND clay clung to my tires like several old girlfriends from bygone years.  The bike has a wheelbase typical of a golf cart, short and steep, and the universal tires, although good  in dry conditions or pavement, clog up easily in this goop. 

SNOW from a few days before, still hung on in well shaded spots like County Line rd where we wound our way through the trees.  I was actually pretty glad to see pavement and open fields beyond.  PEI is criss-crossed with such clay roads.  It's virtually impossible to get lost.  You may stray a little, but a few miles in pretty much any direction, will find you a paved road. 

THE soil is still red, that hasn't changed although much else has. Perhaps the biggest change is the 14 km bridge that spans Northumberland Strait separating the Island from New Brunswick at one end and Nova Scotia, the other.

AT the junction with route 20, I headed for the coast. Adams Pond was just a kilometer away to my right and the ocean dead ahead.  Cold wind blew through the minutest gaps in my clothing.  Acceptably warm at my place in Spring Valley, here... next to the Gulf of St Lawrence, it screamed at me from the Vicinity of Labrador and caused me to shiver in my underwear.

THERE was absolutely no one about.  A line of empty cabins for rent, awaited the new season of tourists from Ontario, Holland, the USA and from as far off as Japan.  The Japanese are rabid "Anne Shirley" fans, I remembered tour guiding many a Yamaha employee from the Island of the Rising Sun during my Freedom Cycle days.

THE world wide recession has affected the once strong tourist economy greatly the last few years.  Americans, feeling the effects of plummeting home values, huge debt, job losses and a dollar that once held a significant advantage over our own, stayed away in droves.

Everywhere I have traveled the last few years, I have been haunted by the global fiasco that greedy, careless, multi m(B)illionaire Bankers and Insurance industry people, created for our fragile economy.  How is it that billions, maybe trillions have been spent of taxpayers money, to finance these ruthless asses with bail outs, pay outs, and bonus'... you have to wonder... how it is that no one, has gone to prison over this...

EVEN though it was a beautiful sunny day, the north wind promised me cold temperatures, never hitting the forecast 10C during my afternoon riding around my new soon to be stomping grounds.

The beach was totally deserted, not a vehicle, not a dog nor human in sight.  I rode the high tide mark, my skinny little tires hardly leaving a visible mark.  In an hour even that tiny footprint would vanish as the tide surged in, white caps running towards the shore.

REMINDS me of one of my many Dr N. Thusiasm's...  

"Life's a Beach, best build your sandcastles while the tide is out... it's gonna come back in soon enough."

I have built many sand castles in my life... moral. 

  Live while you are alive.  When the fat lady sings, she's all over!

What you think is a Mirage...

Pic by MJ Smith

To me,  is a Dream coming true.  For longer than I care to admit, pretty much since my first XC ride on a four speed BMW R 60/5, I have dreamed of a country lot close to town... where I could have a little woodlot for the fire pit, a great view, acres of grass to cut.  A place I could create some walking trails, do some tobogganing with the kid lets, plant a garden.

Following pics by R Harrell

Someplace I could carve out a little dirt bike track for my enjoyment and exercise, maybe build a simple trials course.  Maybe see some red fox darting about chasing mice.  A dog to fetch with.  A family to share with.  Cats to pet...

I've planned and acted, with great intentions, I was close before, but couldn't quite get there.  Well... what you see before your very eyes is not a Mirage although it is certainly a Dream.

In a short couple of months, counting the days now, we will be making the trek to our new digs across Canada.  5000 km from this home to that. Brenda is counting the days now...

Lazy days of summer, the (several) beach only minutes away.  A waiting lawn tractor.  Lots of grass to cut.  Friends to come by, sitting on the patio enjoying the waning rays of the sun.  A studio for Brenda to work on her art (yes I am constantly drawn, no pun intended, to Artists) Me looking out my study window towards Kensington... writing my novels.

Dream big my friends.  That's how all reality begins.

I got's the DT's !

BOY this little bike sure gets around!  Waaaaay back, right after the last Ice Age, when I still had my motorcycle shops in the Maritimes, I brought in this here DT 50 LC (for liquid cooled).  That was 1989.  She's the only non human survivor of the marriage break-up, and last remnant of my shop.  I've kept her in good shape all these years and she's been a surprising performer.

DURING the first dozen years of her life, she saw little action.  Lisa rode it on the Forestry Trunk road up to the YaHa Tinda federal ranch, when she was visiting from the east coast at age fourteen.  Did a great job too, bouncing along, changing gears, up and down on a notoriously rough piece of gravel roadway.  The kid's a natural and I should know.

Not only am I her father, but as Chief Instructor for nearly 18 years, I saw plenty of students pass (or fail) through the National Motorcycle Training program.  I'd say in my humble estimation, that about 5% of riders are 'naturals'.  By that I mean, they sit and act like they belonged on the bike.  Take Holly for example, she learned how to ride at a young age (5 on a PW 50) and is a very accomplished rider, but her ability comes from learning, paying attention to detail and applying her skills.  She likes to ride whenever she gets a chance.  Lisa on the other hand, shows little interest although once we're out on the Island, she may ride my little dirt bike around a bit.

Burnt out forest outside Okanagan Falls 2003

SINCE my collision in 2002, and subsequent lengthy pseudo recovery... I took the 49cc LC, 6 speed, 8.5 hp cutie out of mothballs with just slightly under 1000 kms showing on the clock. After gearing up, we proceeded to ride the little beast over a thousand kilometers of varying terrain in central B.C. for two weeks, during the worst fire season on record in the province. The little bike carried my around the Okanagan Valley and into some terrific but rough country in the back roads of Nakusp.

see CB April 2004 "British Columbia, on 49cc a Day" 

Wilson Lake West Kootenays 2003

SHE struggled in foot deep sand, climbed with the engine red-lined in first gear, right to the mountains tops, 8000 feet overlooking Wilson Lake.

I'VE kept the bike, trained many a rider on it, including several girlfriends, both my girls and spent time on her myself too. 

Another time, the little bike rode the rack to Baja, where we spent several weeks exploring in the Giganta mountain range, where Mille riders roost rocks! 

YEP... we've been around. Funny, even now with limited space and having to narrow my riding herd considerably, the tiny little trail bike, still holds a place of reverence in the stable.  Once we are settled I am going to teach Brenda to ride the little steed, and when I have company, the street legal 90 kph dualie will come in handy.

WHILE on the Island these last few weeks, I did have an opportunity to take a ride around the area where we will be living out our years.  Too bad the crappy weather followed me across the country, the day I chose had a lull in building activity while the concrete set in it's forms, but didn't reach the advertised 10C... nope. Warmest it got was 7 maybe 8 degrees and a stiff wind was blowing from the NE.

IF you've ever found yourself riding a nifty fifty, even one as 'powerful' as this, you know that even with six gears and a 10,000 RPM red-zone, a bit of uphill or stiff breeze Nor' Easter, tend to scrub off speed earned with lots of revs, very quickly.   Never the less, we managed to ride around for the better part of several hours, taking in the sights, snapping some photos with the trusty Olympus and generally behaving like the bumblebee hooligans we are.  (Insert huge grin at this point).

JUST goes to show you... you can have just as much fun on a dinky toy motorcycle as anything else.  It's really a matter of your frame of mind. It's just about the most fun you can have on a motorcycle with your clothes on!

Annoying!

Man... he's still on the frigging phone!

Hot Diggity!

WITH good weather, and minimal delays, the crew has been whacking together the new pad rather rapidly.  IN only a week, I had seen the place go from snow covered raw land to excavation, to foundation to walls being erected.  This week alone, the carrying beam for the upper floor was added and it's been much easier to envision the house as it will look in a few short weeks/months.

Unfortunately I won't be around for the entire build much as I would like to be. Hance would tire of me long before that's done, and a myriad of details, big and small, await me upon my return to Calgary.  The final prep for getting my own long time home on the market as early as possible, selling many of my Motorcycles that can't make the trip, packing, disposing of items of furniture and various other chores that go with moving a lifetime to another location, this one 5000 km east.

When we returned from our property search last July... we had basically 5 days to move Brenda and Anna from her sold home. It wasn't easy, was hard work, and this won't be any easier!  Nevertheless, things are proceeding fairly smoothly, probs have been minimal, and skies blue.

I'm trying my best to keep the Blog realistically up to date, everyday is an adventure and it's dark by the time I swing into the driveway...

I'm sitting at the Ottawa airport as I write this piece, our Nation's capital.  The flight from C'town was uneventful, leaving in sunny weather and arriving to rain.  Not many about, but there is a guy sitting a few chairs from me that has been yakking on his cell non stop for 25minutes with no immediate signs of letting up.  He is rather loud, talking to someone about his many plans in Penticton, cash bars, Wayne Gretzky etc etc.  Little regard for the people around him.

My plane to Calgary boards in about an hour, I think I will move to a different row of seats, I'd rather watch mindless television than listen to his plans in every minute detail...

Flashback. North...

OKAY... it wasn't Alaska (that will come very soon) but I was  heading home.


 As I am driving up Olive coming to 67th avenue, for some inexplicable reason I turned right rather than my usual straight route.

Instead of heading west on the Carefree highway I took the New River road cut-off.


Instead of Kingman/Las Vegas... I was now driving towards Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon beyond.

There had been terrific snowfalls only days ago, and why I was heading for it, I could not explain at the time.  After all, the day was bright, sunny and temperatures had risen during the week into the high sixties and even touched seventies on my last ride to Aquila.

Traffic was very heavy on I-17N as I passed the entrance to Senator Highway, which led to Crown King... I smiled to myself... the easy way.  

 

With each passing mile, the Blazer climbed up into the surrounding mountains and snow began appearing in small patches on the east/north side of the hillsides.  By the time I was closing Flagstaff, drifts were still piled high in shaded areas, reflecting the blinding sun into my shades.

  
Once again my new GPS girlfriend, Lori... who had accompanied me for the first time this trip, was trying her darnedest to send me home via Vegas.  "After one quarter mile, turn right.  Then take the motorway..." she cooed softly into my ears with stereo clarity.  I thought, as I passed the exit, 'isn't that just like a woman... take me to Vegas Baby!'

Not on this trip.

I am a "MAN," and I'm doing the driving, making the decisions here honey! 

Hahaha... easy to write this when talking about a computer generated voice, right guys.  Had Lori been sitting next to me, she would have been coolly whispering into my ear.  Cool I say because she would have been sitting atop my cooler full of road food and drinks!

Nevertheless I brushed off her antics and she finally relented by steering me towards Calgary. 

I have done this particular route several times in past years.  As you clear the last of the major populations centers, the road drops to opposing single lanes and the speed accordingly.  The country opens up into a vast plain flanked on both sides by red cliffs, tall against the skyline.


 We pulled off at Lee's Ferry just south of Page.  



Here at this location John Lee built the river crossing during 1871 and 2.  Earlier in his life, he'd fell afoul of the law, and was executed a few years later for his involvement in the 1857 Mountain Meadows massacre.

His wife sold the ferry crossing in 1879 for reportedly, a hundred cows.

It operated until 1929 when the first Navajo bridge was constructed by the US government.


        

Today it's an impressive sight looking down the uncovered bridge nearly 500 feet to the muddy Colorado.

A twin radial engined relic of perhaps WW2 vintage flew by up the canyon at treetop (okay there are no trees, but low) level thundering some tourists on a daring high speed? pass through the Grand Canyon.

I had my Olympus in hand and only had just barely enough time to swing it over to the west, and with sun blinding me, press the shutter in the general direction of the sound of fury, bouncing around the canyon walls.  There is still something so nostalgic and beautiful hearing an air cooled engine droning like an oversize dragonfly, maybe that's why the Harley crowd likes those open pipes of theirs.

Course... it does nothing for me but causing annoyance when they "drive" by in weekend hordes.  On the other hand, hearing a B-17 or old Beaver and this twin here, shivers me timbers so to speak.  Romance of a bygone era perhaps...

Cliffs tower over you rising a thousand feet or more into the blue sky.

Standing on the walking bridge and looking straight down past my tootsies is an eerie and spectacular view.  Knowing that all that separates you and a miserable death in the turbines at Hoover Dam downstream is the aging metal structure and 500 feet of very thin desert air!

 

Not to worry that, will never happen... you'll either die of fright tumbling down or certainly when you hit the concrete like water of the Colorado.



 This would not be a good place for anyone with a weak heart in a major wind or earth tremor!

 After a short break, I was on the road once more, driving this lonely desert road towards Utah.  Near the state borders the highway begins to climb once more, this time several thousand feet into thick pine forests.

Once I'd left the bridge behind, I was again at 130kph, heat flushing my face through the thin glass of my driver's window.  The one way routes to the North face of the GC were still closed by snow, maybe some day with a KLR 650 or similar, I will ride to these places from my home in Phoenix.



I passed by the adobe dwellings of a people moved on, not far from here the Anasazi built their cliff-side homes where they survived for a thousand years or more.



I felt somewhat sad, knowing this will most likely be the last time I drive this stretch of highway in my lifetime.  In just a few short months, our new home in Prince Edward Island Canada, would be completed, the transition from living in Alberta will be underway, and future trips to the American Southwest would be via airline and not interstate.

              Who knows... like Bond, never say never right :)

SPRING FEVER!

 

 IS a wonderful thing isn't it!

It happens all over the country and probably many more around the World.

You get up earlier in the morning, maybe your palms sweat.  Adrenaline begins to flow.

You can picture pulling the tarp off the bike, pouring fuel into the tank, dusting off the riding gear.

Maybe you've installed something new over the long winter's hibernation.  Tires perhaps, a hot pipe, lights, luggage... a new sweetie.

For the last three months your mind drifts back to the day you are free again.  The snow has receded from the roads, old Sol shows signs of warming the air every day. 







When the day arrives, you're careful to make certain the oil is fresh and full, the tires up to scratch, the driveway is clear of gravel.

That magic moment when the engine first lights off, the sound of V Twin, or Inline four, or big single or a soft burble (for you scooter riders).  Pulling the gloves on, hitching up the lid, nervously twisting the throttle making sure everything sounds just right.

A final inspection of the gauges before your toe clicks the shifter into gear.

The same old rush you get when you are accelerating down the road the first time, upshifting to each gear.

Ya know what I mean... no matter what else you may call it... it's the thrill isn't it... still nothing like it in the world that I have tried in my life...