Vancouver

Arriving in Vancouver on a Saturday morning, I made my way to the local BMW dealership.  Having called ahead, they were expecting me and my bike.  New tires had been ordered, and the dealership generously allowed me to store all my riding gear while the bike was being serviced.

Leaving the dealership with a small drybag (Vickie had all my cruise wear in another suitcase she was bringing), I pulled up Uber on my phone, only to learn neither Uber or Lyft are allowed in Vancouver.  So, after waiting almost an hour for a cab, I arrived at the Rosewood Hotel in downtown Vancouver.

Vickie's flight was not due until the evening, so I explored the city a bit, eventually taking the train to the airport and meeting Vickie with all our luggage for the cruise and after cruise travel.

We decided the best way to see the city was by a guide led bicycle tour.  Vancouver is intentionally very bike and pedestrian friendly, having been voted one of the top five most livable cities in the world.  With a population of just over 600,000; most people live in glass high rise apartments so that they can enjoy amazing 360 views of the ocean and the mountains.  The downside is that Vancouver is also one of the most expensive cities to live in, with many people pushed out to the surrounding areas, with a metro population of almost 3 million.  Vancouver is one of the warmest cities in Canada, due to its' proximity to the Pacific, and also the wettest, although while we were there, they were experiencing a drought.

Vancouver is very diverse, with over 50% of the residents having English as their second language.  Persons of Chinese heritage are the largest population group, followed by other Asian ethnic groups, such as Punjabi, Indo-Canadian, Japanese, and Korean.

Our cycle group was led by a local Vancouverite, who was understandably proud of his city, and gave us an insider's view (and opinion) of everything from local politics to the long and storied history of the city.  In keeping with the diversity theme our group included a family from Merida, Mexico, whose daughter was about to attend college in Canada.

Highlights of the tour included the massive Stanley Park, the third largest park in North America.  The totems were a highlight as was the seawall and magnificent views.  Granville Island was amazing, with many restaurants, brewpubs, and shopping.  Most interesting were the mini ferry boats taking everyone back and forth from the island to the city.  Vancouver is a city of neighborhoods, each with its' own ethnic and cultural mix.

Our day ended with a walk around the cruise terminal, Canada Place, where millions of tourists depart for Alaska annually, us included.

Great customer service.  Not only did they store my gear and bike for 10 days, after the service; I also saved $$ due to the exchange rate.

The best way to experience Vancouver. 

A remembrance of the indigenous peoples of Vancouver in Stanley Park.

Where all the broom props for the Harry Potter movies are made.

My beauty observing the beauty of Vancouver.  And worried about that seaplane in the background. More about that in the next post........

Canada, Eh?

The Canadian border crossing on WA Hwy 31 is definitely in the "boonies".  Twenty miles from a town either on the US side or the Canadian side, business was slow the morning I crossed.  The agent hadn't seen anyone from Texas on a motorcycle before, and her main question she wanted answered was whether or not I was carrying a firearm.  Assuring her I wasn't, after showing my passport and the recording of my license plate, I was on my way to explore the southern mountains of Canada.

Canada Highway 3, also called Crowsnest Highway, http://www.crowsnest-highway.ca/, is a historic route across BC.  This portion from Salmo to Vancouver was as varied a terrain as I could imagine.  From soaring snow covered peaks to huge fruit orchards and vineyards at Osoyoos, this portion of the ride was both surprising and challenging.

Midway into the morning, the rain and sleet started to fall, so I found a roadside camping area and geared up with wet weather gear.  I added my heated vest as the temperature was dropping, and continued on, at a much slower pace as the road was both twisty and wet.

After a couple of hours, the skies cleared, I topped a mountain pass, and the road began a sharp descent.  Lake Osoyoos and the town of Osoyoos came into view.  I learned that Lake Osoyoos is the warmest lake in BC, and this is a popular tourist and retirement destination for those Canadians wanting to escape the cold, but unable to afford the Southern US.  Many of the buildings were built in the '60's to resemble the southwest US, with adobe structure and red tile roofs.  With the many orchards, it felt as if I had stumbled into Southern California.

I stopped for lunch, a glass of wine, and unusual for me, a haircut.  With what little hair I have, I had neglected to bring my clippers, so I was getting a little shaggy.

Wanting to get a few more miles in, I continued east towards Vancouver, and ended the day in a small town called Princeton, about 200 miles east of Vancouver, my destination for the next day.

Canada, like the US, is a land of immigrants.  Canadians, wherever they are from originally, are some of the friendliest people on the planet.  And, many of them love the US.  I spoke to several Canadians who spend the winter months in the US, and would stay longer, and spend more of their money here, if our government would let them.  There are some crazy immigration rules, however, for Canadians, allowing them only limited time here in the US to enjoy their vacation homes, and our warmer climate.

Next stop is Vancouver, where I will drop off the bike at Vancouver BMW for new tires and a 10k service.  Then, pick up Vickie at the airport and get ready for our cruise departure to Alaska.  More to come........

Lake Osoyoos, feels more like Southern California than British Columbia

Mike had a story to tell.  His story took longer than my haircut:)

This little motel, pretty much unchanged since the owners, from Russia, bought it in the '50's.  One of my road rules; no chain motels.

Main Street, Princeton, BC. Pretty quiet on a Friday night.

Metaline Falls

Riding north on WA Hwy 31, the recommendation I received from the nice lady at the tourist information stop was to spend the night in Metaline Falls, WA, about 20 miles from the Canadian border crossing.  A highway sign warned that the border crossing was only open during daylight hours, and this little town was the last stop before the border.

  Borders are an odd thing to me, in many places unmarked, just a line on a map.  Our southern border is much more apparent and the differences are vast.  Up here, culture is similar and the most noticeable differences are the phone service, money, and the metric system.

Metaline Falls is a quirky little town of about 200 people.  Once a large mining and cement manufacturing hub, today it's a beautiful, quiet hideaway. Its' claim to fame is the Kevin Costner flop of a movie, The Postman. The movie was filmed here, and there is a nice tribute in the sometimes used train station.  On weekends, in the summer, a vintage steam train takes tourists into the mountains.

The most unusual thing to me was that there were a significant number of displaced indigent people living here.  I was told that the state of Washington offers free or reduced rent housing in an old but well kept apartment building left over from the days when a large factory was still in operation.  There were dozens of people living in the building; unemployed, without transportation, but seemingly content to draw their unemployment, medicaid, or disability and live a simple life.  I met one resident, oddly enough born in Garland, TX.  She had re-located from a life in Alaska to this quiet little town.  Her story was an epic tale, and her weathered appearance bore the signs of a life lived hard.  She was reluctant to have her photo taken, however I snapped one when she wasn't looking.

Needless to say, lodging was minimal.  The one motel outside of town, near a state park, had the "NO VACANCY" sign lit, so I tried the only other place, The Washington Hotel.  The sign on the unlocked door directed me across the street to the local bar for info.  Inquiring, the bartender said there were plenty of rooms available, in fact I was the only guest, and it was $40 cash for the night.  "Pick any clean room", she said.  "Bathroom is down the hall; the owner will be back tomorrow."

Following the signs pointing upstairs, I found a place straight out of the "40's, in my mind.  About 12 rooms along a long hallway, a communal bathroom and showers, and a feeling that it had been a while since any other guests had been brave enough to spend the night.  My chosen room was clean with fresh sheets and towels, and a fan in the open window.  No lock on the door, no lock on the entrance downstairs, and a distinct feeling I had wandered not into the Hotel Washington, but Hotel California.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis

 Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave! "

As you can see I was able to leave, after a fitful night's sleep, and plenty of memories to share.

Cindy's Cafe next door served a wonderful breakfast, with several trucks full of fire fighters converging on the place as soon as the doors opened at 7am.  Three firefighters had died a few miles away the day before having been caught behind a fire line, and these brave men and women were gearing up for another day of danger and duty.  God bless them and all the others that were risking their lives.

With the bike loaded, and a full stomach, I set out for Canada and an exciting ride through the Canadian mountains.  To be continued....................

Metaline Falls claim to fame

A fellow Texan, by way of Alaska.  Now a resident of Metaline Falls.  She was not willing to pose for a photo, so I sneaked this one.

I might have been the first guest since 1906.

Being the only guest in an old hotel with no locks on any doors was a little creepy.

This place was a time capsule.

Vancouver bound August 2015

After five days and four nights of enjoying Yellowstone's back country, a hot shower and a real bed was a welcome relief.

Waking up after that rest, there was frost on the bike and the thermometer outside my room registered 30 degrees.  I decided to have a leisurely breakfast and spent some time re-packing everything for the ride toward Vancouver.

A  mid-morning departure was in order and my route took me Northwest on US 287 across the lower part of Montana.  Stopping at the Big Hole National Battlefield, I learned about the demise of the Nez Perce Indians.  A nomadic tribe from Oregon, these people had been ordered by the US military to settle on a reservation in Idaho, (b/c gold had been discovered on their reservation and the settlers wanted the gold).  

Running from the soldiers, the tribe had hoped to escape to Canada.  They were surprised at dawn by the 7th Infantry and many were killed, including the women and children.  Many soldiers were also killed in a counter-attack, but as usual the military prevailed and the Nez Perce tribe was put out of existance.

Crossing the Bitterroot mountain range that separates Idaho and Montana, I turned west on the Lolo highway, a scenic highway that many motorcyclists enjoy each summer.  Testing my patience, I had to turn around, however, due to the many forest fires in the area.  I back-tracked to Missoula, MT where I spent the night.  The sky was gray and everything smelled like smoke.

The bike packed and ready to leave for Vancouver after a restful night in West Yellowstone, MT

The day started early as I had a 6am conference call.  With today's technology, business can be transacted on the road almost as easily as at home.  After taking care of business, and knowing that the fires were worsening, I decided to go north and try to ride around the problem.  Riding up I-90 toward Spokane, I took a break and stopped at a small town, Mullen, MT.  A coffee shop had advertised on the interstate their specialty of Huckleberry milkshakes.  Having had one before years earlier when in Montana, I decided to try it again.  While waiting, a man in the shop asked where i was from, and having said Arlington, TX, he surprisingly noted that he lived in Dallas.  He introduced himself, and Patrick and I had a great time talking.  He had been born in Mullen, and had decided to come back for the summer to take care of family property.  He is a massage therapist, and splits his time between Montana and Texas, enjoying the best seasons of both.

Learning more about the fires, I exited the interstate at Couer d'Alene, Idaho and continued north toward the Canadian border.  Just before  crossing into Washington, I stopped for lunch in Spirit Lake, Idaho.  A small lake town with four bars on the one block main street, a local suggested the the "Linger Longer Lounge" had the best food.  He was not wrong, the sandwich and tater tots, washed down with a local beer hit the spot.  Two locals, having whiskey for lunch, gave me all the local weather and hunting news, largely complaining about the drought and heat, and the fact that the elk population had been decimated by wolves.  According to them, the re-introduction of the wolf to Yellowstone several years ago had gone wrong, with the wolves migrating north and multiplying much as the wild hogs have done in Texas.  In Idaho, it is now open season for wolves 9 months of the year, only requiring a $11 wolf tag to hunt them.  They gave me more local fire info, and I again re-routed my trip further north, deciding to bypass my western route across Washington state.

As I got closer to the Canadian border, I stopped at the information general store in Ione Washington, 20 miles from the border.  The nice lady there (who winters in San Antonio) suggested that I stop for the night in Metaline Falls, a small former mining and cement town 12 miles from the border.  This little town deserves a post all its' own, so stay tuned.

Apparently, a favorite locals hangout.  One of four bars on the block.

Time to catch up from Summer 2015

Having good intentions of blogging about my 2015 Summer adventures, I only was able to complete the pre-adventure preamble in August 2015, before departure.

Now, almost a year later, and planning another bike trip (again to the West), my lingering self imposed disappointment of not blogging about the trip has set in, and I have decided to recap the memories of the trip.

Primarily, the reason for doing so is a request (perhaps stated before) that my children made of me a few years ago.  They wanted Vickie and me to start writing about our lives and memories.  I've recently realized how important this can be to future generations.

Last year (2015) I decided to finish a genealogy project my dad had started decades ago.  With help from a friend, and the genius of www.ancestry.com I was able to trace the ancestry of Vickie and me back to when our people first landed in the USA.  Along with DNA tests for the two of us, we discovered our lineage was different than we had been told through the years.  Otts being a German name, I was always told we came from Germany.  Nope, my first people in the USA were from Northern Ireland, named Oates, and the DNA test proved the same.  With other ancestors from Britian, and Vickie's ancestors both British and French, we were able to fill in the gaps and provide a family tree that is both interesting and surprising.  But, I digress.  Writing this will allow the future generations of our family to have a bit of insight into our lives, just as my ancestor tracking discovered a relative who was one of the few female spies for the Confederacy.  Her life did not end well!!

OK, back to more recent times.  A summary and some pictures of my Summer Adventure of 2015.

Arriving in Denver, I Uber'ed to the place I had stored my BMW, packed and adjusted my gear and started north on I25 towards Wyoming.  Several hours later, I met my hiking buddies, Dan and Sam in West Yellowstone.  After a good night's rest, re-configuring my gear, and loading up my pack, we departed the next morning for the back country permit office in Yellowstone. 

Hiking in Yellowstone back country requires a permit, and a 45 minute video tutorial of the dangers of the park; particularly the Grizzlies. Also required is a LARGE canister of bear spray (which you can rent), lots of warnings from the park rangers, good maps and a sense of adventure.  As the week before, a hiker had been killed by a grizzly, we were on high alert for the possible encounter.  The Rangers assured us that hiker had broken all the rules; off the trail, listening to music with earbuds, hiking alone, no bear spray, etc.  None the less, we blew our whistles, attached bells on our packs, and generally felt like idiots as we walked through blind areas singing and talking loud to "scare" the Grizzlies away.

Yellowstone is over 2 million acres and has over 1000 miles of trails, yet most of the millions of visitors each year don't leave the pavement.  Just a little advice, if you go, leave your car and see the beauty that our Creator has made.

We spent five days and four nights hiking and camping in the wilderness. We saw no Grizzlies, only a few other people, and many incredible sights, sounds, and stars.

 As has been said, a picture is worth a thousand words, so see a few thousand words in these images.





The obligatory beginning picture

Beware of narrow shoulders and wildlife. 

I used a Dixon rollerpack instead of the traditional back pack.  Great for us older folks.

Making sure the Grizzlies didn't get our food. 

All the comforts of home.

I prefer hammock camping instead of a tent, much more comfortable and light weight.  The rain fly worked well the one time we had rain.

We had several water crossings.  August is the best time to go; earlier in the summer and the water crossings are much deeper and harder.

This water crossing required a little more effort; it was about thigh deep.  Had to convert the roller pack to a back pack. That's me on the far side working up my courage to get across.  

Purifying our water along the way

A cold beer was a welcome treat at the finish line.

Ride West 2015 version

  For my dozens of readers who graced these pages back in 2013 when I wrote about my Africa adventure and ride West, I have decided to either bore you or entertain you with more ride stories and hopefully an interesting adventure.
I'm preparing to fly to Denver, where my slightly used and dirty motorcycle has been sitting in storage since mid June.  I have gone over to the dark side some would say by switching from a Harley to a BMW.  The Harley still resides in my garage gathering dust, and the new 1200 GS dual sport bike has been broken in quite well during a trip in June to New Mexico and Colorado.  The GS offers the best of both worlds of motorcycling, being a great touring bike and able to take on most of the non-paved roads on this planet.

Not having ridden dirt since college, I availed myself of an off road training course offered by Rawhyde Adventures.  After three days in the mountains of Colorado, riding mud, dirt, hills, and sand, I felt pretty confident that I could hold my own with what would come.  After testing my skills riding the trails around Ouray and Telluride with a friend, I rode to Denver, parked the bike and flew home.

That brings me back to the present, packed and ready to fly to Denver, where I start an adventure of multiple parts.  Here's a preview of what's about to happen, and I will fill in the blanks as the trip unfolds.

Part one.  Ride from Denver to Yellowstone where I meet some friends for several days of backpacking the trails of America's most visited National Park.  I was 8 or 9 years old the last and only time I was in Yellowstone, so this is high on my to do list.

After that, I ride the bike to Vancouver, BC, where I meet Vickie who will fly in from DFW.  After a couple of days exploring Vancouver, we depart on an Alaska cruise for seven days to Anchorage.  After flying back to Vancouver from Anchorage, we will spend a few days enjoying Victoria, BC, and Vickie will fly home.

The third leg will be my ride from Vancouver back to Arlington, route undecided at this time.

Stay tuned for updates as the adventure unfolds.

Rawhyde Adventures training school June 2015 

Getting the new bike dirty after learning how to navigate water crossings.

Better to drop the bike than go over the cliff.  Unlike the Harley, no chrome to damage.

Final Days of Ride West

Day 18

Realizing that this ride was soon coming to an end, and that I had achieved my loosely planned objectives, I pointed the bike south towards Ouray, Silverton, Durango and points south after the sun had warmed things up a bit.

Riding through Ouray brought back fond memories of a family trip here years ago, when the girls were small, and the boys were yet to be born.  We had rented a jeep and asked for an easy trail from the person at the rental shop, and was told to try Owl Creek Pass over to Lake City.  Vickie, being pregnant with Brad, and Staci and Brooke both under six years old meant that a rugged, bumpy ride was not at the top of their list.  But, that is what we had.  The jeep trail, one lane, blind curves, and steep drop offs was an adventure.  We made the trip safely with these fond memories to show for it .

Next stop on the Million Dollar Highway was Silverton.  The origin of the name Million Dollar Highway is disputed. There are several legends, though, including that it cost a million dollars a mile to build in the 1920s, and that its fill dirt contains a million dollars in gold ore.  Silverton also holds memories of family trips and bike trips with several members of the CPAP Riders.  Particularly, Dennis' famed wheel failure at the top of Molas Pass, and the day spent waiting on a tow truck, which never showed.  Some friendly guys with a trailer finally loaded his broken bike and took him south to the Harley shop in Durango.

Durango was another trip down memory lane, with past ski trips, train rides, and the annual Four Corner's bike rally that several of us attended for many years.  Unknown to me, the Four Corner's Rally had been resurrected after a few years hiatus, and Durango was filled with bikers as I rolled into town.  Turning east and riding toward Pagosa Springs, I had the opportunity to make the Harley wave to hundreds of bikes heading west to Ignacio and Durango.

Arriving in Chama, NM, a small town I had ridden through numerous times, but never stopped  at, I decided to stop for the evening.  Chama is the western terminus for the Cumbres and Toltec Railroad. A scenic narrow gauge trail similar to the one that runs from Durango to Silverton, this attraction had filled most of the motel rooms in this small town.  Getting the last room at a log cabin type tourist court, I settled in to watch an amazing sunset for the second night in a row, this time with a double rainbow.

Day 19

Telling Vickie that I would be home on Sunday, a day early, I decided to get an early start and see where I made it for the day.  Knowing that I was facing 100+ heat as soon as I reached very far into Texas, I was not too excited about the last few hundred miles.  

Arriving in Santa Fe around mid morning, I decided to go to the Plaza and enjoy the Saturday morning.  With Labor Day weekend festivities in full swing, the Plaza was hopping with its' annual arts and crafts fair. I met some interesting people, particularly a couple from San Antonio there for the weekend.  As we talked, we found out that she was a client of ReCept Pharmacy in San Antonio.  Small world indeed.

Looking at the map, I had a decision to make as to which way and how far I would go for the rest of the day.  I decided to ride as far as Cline's Corner and make my decision. Wanting to get one last dose of mountain air before getting back to Texas, I decided to drop down due south to Ruidoso, instead of heading east to Clovis and points east.  Having made the first day's ride to Ruidoso, I knew it would be a fairly easy last day dash home from Ruidoso.

Big mistake.................Ruidoso was jam packed with people, and the "No Vacancy" signs were all I could see.  Traffic was backed up for blocks on the Main Street, and the highway leading into town was jammed with race track spectators.  I realized, too late, that the All American Futurity horse race was in progress, there was another arts and crafts show here, and apparently everyone in West Texas and New Mexico decided to come here for the holiday weekend.  Stopping at the only motel that had a vacancy sign, the desk clerk said he had one room left.  I asked, "What's the damage?".  He said in broken English, "No damage, you can inspect first."  Since this looked like a weekly stay place, I explained I was asking the price, and he said "two hundred dollars, but I'll let you have it for $169."  When I realized this was for one night, not a week, I decided to move on.  After a few more stops, moving on meant riding to Roswell, seventy miles away.  I broke my hotel rule in Roswell, spending the night at a Marriott Fairfield Inn and Suites, for half the price of the dump in Ruidoso.

Day 20

The last day of riding was pretty much uneventful and HOT.  I lost a lens from my sunglasses somewhere in eastern NM, it having fell out of the frame and landing on the highway while cruising along at 70mph.  Back tracking and looking for it proved to be unsuccessful, so I changed glasses and kept sweating and moving.

Windmills, eighteen wheelers, and dove hunters' headed back to the Metroplex were the scenic highlights of the last day.  However, I must say, as I pulled into my neighborhood, it felt great to be home.

I'm told the average Harley rider puts less than 2,000 miles per year on his bike.  With this trip, I Iogged nearly 6,000 miles in three weeks, I'm going to raise that average a bit.

Thanks to all who have traveled along with me by reading this blog; I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Double rainbow at Chama, NM

Sign at the Primo Cigar Shop in Santa Fe

Decision time; which way to go?

Ahhh, Texas and 100+ day of riding ahead of me.

Evidence of a enjoyable and memorable adventure.