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Published: June 18th 2009
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Bill and his beamer
After we got it upright After our long day of Kayaking, sleep came quite easily for me. We managed to get out of Valdez the next morning by about 9:30. We rode most of the day on very nice roads, backtracking on a 175 km stretch of the Tok Cutoff in order to get back into the Yukon. Our goal for the day was to get to the border town of Beaver creek, YT.
The roads were just beautiful and the warm weather made the 580 km ride a breeze. We passed the US customs building, and, in what can be described as an oddity, the Canadian customs point is actually about 30 km north of the border.
About 20 km from the Canadian checkpoint, the road turned to gravel. I pulled over for a photo and a southbound van stopped and asked if we had been travelling with a 3rd bike. I told him no, he explained in a US drawl that about a mile up the road, a motorcycle had crashed in the gravel.
We cautiously rode towards the accident, I wondered why the guy in the van hadn't stopped to help, if in fact there was a crash. Coming around
A common sight along the Alcan
snapped a pic with the flagger while we waited for a pilot vehicle to take us through the work area. a corner, I could see a car stopped at the bottom of a hill, and just beyond it, what looked like a motorcycle on its side in tthe ditch. As I came down the hill, I figured out what had happened: the gravel suddenly became deep, soft and loose packed, it was like my front tire was swimming in it, had I not been going so slow in anticipation of the accident ahead, I probably would have come off my bike too.
A big BMW GS 1200 lay in the ditch on its side, both panniers ripped off. A tall, older looking man stood nearby, wearing chaps and a leather jacket, covered in dirt. He was holding his wrist which had been hastily wrapped in a blood soaked bandage. A couple heading the opposite direction had witnessed the crash and stopped to help. The 2 men were not able to get the big GS back on its wheels. Not only was it on its side but it was also on a slope on the edge of the roadway. Judging from the damage, it had flipped over at least once.
The couple in the other car were from Paris,
he was originally from Boston, and she from Hamburg, Germany. The rider, who I later found out was named Bill, and the man from Paris had tried to lift the heavy GS but were unable to do so. Between the 4 of us, we managed to get the bike upright. Now the extent of the damage was visible: 2 signal lights sheered off, both panniers ripped off, the right engine guard had snapped, and the winshield had been bent back.
The next struggle was to push the bike up the gravel slope and back onto the roadway. It took a lot of grunting and groaning, but we were successful. I pushed the starter button and the beamer fired right up, as if it didn't know it had just been involved in a horrific crash. The bike was facing south on the roadway and Bill was headed north, so I offered to turn it around for him. I rode the GS a short distance down the road and made a shaky u-turn in the deep gravel. Everything seemed to be working on it, the rims didn't seem bent and the brakes were fine.
Bill was adament that he could
Bentley
A group of Bentley owners from the UK were also on an Alaskan holiday ride it the 20 km or so into Beavercreek. Quite frankly, there really was not much of an alternative. There was the matter of his panniers however. There was no way to attach them to his bike. The couple from Paris stepped up and offered to load them in the car and drive them back south to town, even though they were headed north. We all formed a very slow convoy and headed for the Canadian customs point.
I rolled up first and was intent on letting the customs officer go through the formalities before mentioning the incident. The officer was already aware though, as some motorist must have advised him. He assured me the local mountie was on his way and asked if Bill wanted an ambulance, altough there is no hospital in Beavercreek, there is a first aid station with a nurse practitioner on duty. Ol' Bill said he could ride the last few kilometers, obviously concerned about what would happen to his ride. With the mountie only minutes away, we offloaded the panniers from the car so that the good samaritans from Paris could turn around and resume their journey north. Meanwhile, the customs officer had
brought out a first aid kit to clean out the biggest of Bill's wounds.
That's when I asked him how old he was, prefacing my question by telling him I knew it was rude to ask. 77, he said. My only response was to say "if you don't mind me saying so Bill, you are one tough bastard". He laughed.
The mountie pulled up shortly thereafter and took charge of Bill, placing the panniers in the back of his truck. He then escorted him to the health station and made sure he got a room at the hotel after he had been treated. I had detected a distinctly Quebecois accent in the mountie's speech. That and the fact that his nametag read "J-L J. M. Bedard". That alone shold clue anyone in as to his birth province. Jean-Luc or John to the locals, was a former Surete du Quebec officer who decided to sign up with the horsemen a few years back. He served in Nunavut Territory and now in the Yukon. He also let me know that it was wing night at the local pub in this town of 90 and that he would be there around
9:00 if I wanted to join him and his girlfriend, who is the other customs officer at the port of Beavercreek.
Our german friends from Munich, Alois and Ely, also made it to Beavercreek that evening on their Guzzi. I had made my second meeting with them by chance on the highway outside of Tok after originally meeting them in Dawson Creek at mile 0.
June 17th
We left Bill behind in Beavercreek, he was going to try to "rig" something up with his panniers using some wire, the way only old guys can. The stretch of the Alcan highway from the border at Beavercreek to roughly Burwash Landing is the worst that we have encountered. Not only are their about 6 stretches of gravel, but the frost heaves are worse than anywhere else, some would launch you if you were to take them at high speeds. I met one man from Arizona in an RV who complained to me that he had driven in ditches in Arizona that were better than this highway. I just said that his is the North and you have to expect it.
We stopped in a place called Destruction Bay for gas and Pat R bought a T-shirt commemorating the town's name as it relates to what the highway does to cars. We then drove through the magnificient Kluane National Park (people pronounce it clue-ah-knee, so I have to assume that it correct). We stopped for lunch in Haines Junction before completing the last 230 km to the US border and back into Alaska, you cannot drive to this part of Alaska without driving through Canada's Yukon Territory and a small part of the province of British Columbia. That highway was great and the views spectacular. We made Haines in good time and saw a large Holland America cruise ship docked in the harbour, surrounded by mountain peaks. Quite a sight.
Tomorrow we board the ferry and sail to Prince Rupert, British Columbia for the final leg of the journey. The ferry trip is 2 days and 2 nights and docks in Prince Rupert at 5 AM. I booked a cabin so I should be well rested and ready to hit the road right away.
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