Well I won’t leave you in suspense: I made it. I was able to get to Vancouver Island in time to see the Martin Mars make its last flight. Where I last updated everyone though was getting down to Bisbee, Arizona. However, bad luck followed me.
I got my tooth fixed in fairly short order, but it took three visits. The infection was bad enough that they had to wait five days with me on antibiotics to do the work, putting a temporary filling in for the interim. I then got the prep work and root canal done, and had the crown on the next day, plus another cavity fixed that I’d been meaning to get to. All in all I was out $875US, which is a tiny fraction of what it would cost in the US.
I also got the internal patch done to my tire, but the curse continued. The guy who pulled the tire off and back on for me bent the ABS sensor ring — a part that the wheel speed sensor uses. It’s a small slotted disc and the sensor counts the slots to know how fast the wheel is going and to detect sudden changes in speed that would mean the wheel is locking up.
Despite thoroughly cleaning the area before installing the internal patch, it just wouldn’t stay bonded to the inside of the tire for more than about 30 miles.
That left a persistent fault code and the ABS system disabled, but the real problem was the internal plug did not hold. I had to do 500 mile days to get to Patricia Bay in time to see the Mars’ final flight, and the internal patch held until the morning I left. I made it only 9 miles before the low pressure warning came on.
Worse yet, the hole was now bigger, so plugging it was even more of a challenge. I quickly realized there was no fix but a new tire, so I called the Indian dealership in Tuscon, knowing they would have a tire in stock. They were ready to oblige, but it ended up taking SIX hours to make the 1.5hr ride because of how often I had to stop and replug the tire.
If I had known what I was facing at the beginning, I would have called AAA and just gotten towed to the dealer, but I ended up in a sunk-cost situation, where I just got more mad and more determined to get there. After stopping TWICE to buy more plugs, I finally made it to the dealer just as a big storm started blowing in.
They got me in and out of there in record time, and only charged around $370, which at some dealerships is what they’d charge just for the tire. I’d call that a change of luck, but I had also only made it 230 miles on my first 500 mile day, meaning I’d need 600 mile days, back-to-back, to make it in time.
This picture sums up a lot of the trip north. It’s blurry, featureless, and I’m running against the setting sun.
I also left my drivers license at the motel that night, and although the next day when I called to have them just mail it to me, and they said they would, it still hasn’t shown up in the mail. The next day I had to stop at my mailbox in Las Vegas, thinking I had a $1400 check waiting for me in the mail. It was just a letter telling me my claim was being processed.
Out into the desert I went, aiming for Ely, Nevada, heading up highway 93. It was my first time on that stretch, so there were some new things to look at, but it was still desert. There were a few lakes and rivers though, so some green to look at, but it was mostly wasteland, either flat or with mountains in the distance. It was also 113°F and it was very difficult to maintain focus; the heat from the engine added to the difficulty, but lowering the windshield to let more air at me just dried my eyes out like I was being hit in the face with a hairdryer.
The next problem was gas. I made the fuel station I was aiming for with about 15-20mi to spare, only to find out their pumps were broken, and the next station — in Ely — was 33mi. I was SO CLOSE, but ended up having to wait an hour for AAA to bring me fuel from Ely. Still, I had a problem and also a solution. By now I was just in robot mode. I didn’t feel mad or happy or anything. Things could be better, things could be worse. Just count the miles.
Running out of gas AT a gas station is a first for me.
The next day wasn’t really better. Southern Idaho is like eastern Nevada, but with more irrigated fields. It’s still mostly a wasteland of dead grass and scrub brush. I got on the interstate and worked my way west, hitting traffic in Boise but still making it into Oregon. There was still more night riding involved, even without running out of fuel, but at least I had a sunset in the mountains, and got to see some pine trees.
Some of I-84 passes along the Oregon Trail and I wished for time to visit the historical sites and markers, but not this time through. The Snake River was still the easiest way for travelers, whether by wagon or auto (or train for that matter) so I tried to imagine the old-time travelers while also having to watch out for deer in the fading light.
Another night in a motel, another hot day, but finally some good news — the Mars would be flying on the 11th, giving me an extra day and only about 370mi left to go. I could breathe easy, but I wasn’t ready to believe my luck had passed. I worked my way up through Washington, and despite trying to avoid the Greater Seattle area, I was beset by heavy traffic in small towns that had outgrown their 2-lane roads.
Rain tried to get me but I was able to sneak past the squalls, then onto I-5 and heavy traffic. It seemed like I’d never make that last stretch to the Canadian border, but I knew the ferry I was after ran every hour, with the last one leaving at 9pm. I was on schedule to make it for the 7pm boarding. That is, until the border.
Canada At Last
The border itself was pretty fast moving; I was only in line about 15 minutes or so. When it was my turn though they were asking a lot more questions than usual. Then I heard the radio say something about a knife on the hip. I always carry a knife on my belt. It’s fixed bladed and not concealed, and only has about a 2.5″ blade. I don’t even think of it as a weapon; If I was going to do damage I’d grab a nearby rock before I really thought to stab someone with a small work knife.
Just the same, it was excuse enough to pull me into secondary, where I had to empty my pockets (I have A LOT of pockets) and then they had to fish through my belongings hoping to find the mother lode. It took about an additional 35min though which isn’t too bad, but it blows my mind how often I get pulled into secondary inspection. It even happens in Mexico a lot, and they never really bother with motorcyclists.
The end result was arriving at 715pm to the terminal, and booking on the 8pm ferry. I asked every soul I could find to make sure I was in the right lane, waiting to board the correct ferry, to the correct place. Eventually there was no doubt I was in the right spot. Just the same, after boarding, the first thing I did was look at all the life rings, life boats, and the tender they had aboard: I was ready to believe the ship would sink under the weight of my bad luck.
In the correct line? Yes. Next person I see who works there, same question.
Of course, it didn’t, and as the ship motored through the Gulf Islands toward the Schwartz Bay terminal, I began to breathe a bit easier. I was able to take in the sunset, to walk the decks and poke around the gift shop, and almost had enough calmness to order a meal at their cafeteria. Instead I walked the decks more and took in the sunset, the islands, their marinas, the cliffside houses and lighthouses, and got to thinking about actually pitching my tent.
Cautiously optimistic. Time for a celebration?
Just let the last two months fall by the wayside.
It’s only about 5min from the terminal to the SMONECTEN (Sma-Nitch-Ten) campground, and sure enough, my campsite was still reserved! Hurray! I’d done it. Hadn’t seen the Mars yet, but I was here, I had an extra day to recon the area before the flight, and I knew where I’d be laying my head for the next week.
I sighed big, checked what was open nearby, and settled on the only late-night option that wasn’t fast food: Dickens Public House.
The Long Sigh
It turned out to be a great place. Wanting something properly Canadian to eat, I instead chose the fish tacos, because the kitchen was closing in two minutes and because it somehow seemed fitting to battle may way 2,000 miles from Mexico to Canada, to sit down and gnosh on some tacos.
They turned out to be really good, but nothing like Baja fish tacos. There was a chipotle sauce, some kind of coleslaw with currants or raisins in it, and the fish was small sort of nuggets instead of larger battered fillets. I wasn’t complaining though and tore through them in victory along with a Molson to at least have some Canadian authenticity.
I ended up sitting next to a guy from Newfoundland, which was a surprise considering that was my original destination for this year, and we were nearly 4,000 miles away from there, on the western islands of Canada. It was also a surprise because his accent was so thick and people in BC don’t generally have a thick accent. Even the bartender struggled to understand him but I’ve gotten pretty good at picking my way through thick accents over the years.
We ended up closing the place out, placing some pool, and it seemed like everyone in the bar knew everyone despite it being mostly random people. I met a really interesting gal whose face just lit up when I started talking about travel. She was very cute and actually approached me, so I was becoming a fan of Canada from the get go.
Eventually though it was time to sleep the sleep of the dead, and to be able to enjoy sleeping in too because the campsite was well shaded and the temperatures during the day were barely into the 70’s. I reconned the shores of Patricia Bay the next day and had a nice lunch at the Spitfire Grill, which is on the backside of the airport and has views of the runways.
One more sleep and it would be time for the big show…
Johnny Killmore 