Prelude

This has been a tumultuous season so far with so many plans come and gone like the shifting winds of a forest fire. Just when you think you have the situation under control another shift in circumstances and it’s time for a new plan. I cannot remember a time in my adult life when the changing economy had such an immediate effect on my personal situation so this is new territory for me and out of my comfort zone. It has illustrated how close to the line the average middle class family skirts, even when their employment remains stable. Every year the silent chipping away by ever increasing costs of everyday expenses puts discretionary items out of reach. Some people make up for this by using credit but for those of us unwilling to dig a financial hole for instant gratification, it means doing without. Doing-without or at the very least toning-down is what this year has shaped up to be, certainly when it comes to the annual two-wheeled escape. What started as a 3 week trip to Baja was then trimmed back to a loop through the western states (as far as northern California) devolving further into a short loop as far as the Coast of Washington. With the budget shrinking like male anatomy in frigid water, the route became a week long loop just touching the northern edges of Montana and Idaho before turning back across the border into the well-worn territory of British Columbia. Thoroughly demoralized by this point my motivation slumped putting any trip into question. Even my tentative schedule was shot down when a situation at work prevented my departure at my boss’s request. With that fire dosed, it wasn’t long before he was pressing me to take a vacation, something I had given up on by that point, my motivation gone (along with half of the summer season). For scuttling my original planned time off my boss compensated me enough to fund a week of frugal bike exploration and so once again my planning began in earnest.

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The yellow in the bottom quarter of the map is the current Fire in Glacier National Park.

A different type of fire would put the new plan in jeopardy when drought conditions in northern Montana caught up to Glacier National Park and made the national news. One week out from departure and it was time for another variation on a tiresome theme. If I were superstitious I would think that I had somehow pissed off the gods. In truth this was robbing any remaining enthusiasm that I had managed to hold onto regarding a bike-trip. My usual group of riding-comrades was having an equally shaky year and only one had committed to joining me. He was no-doubt beginning to question my sanity with all the track updates, trying to stay ahead of the shifting forest-fire and resulting road issues. Watching the weather as the days ticked by (along with fire situation reports) bordered on obsessional for me. The original day-1 stop was at a campground now in the fire zone so I managed to find an alternate nearby. By mid-week with a couple of days remaining to departure the situation looked to be improving but the weather was shifting as well, getting hotter, and potentially windier. The current plan, un-affectionately known as “Plan E” hinged on a short section of pavement that I had never ridden before. This was supposed to be done early on day-2 and is known as the Going-To-The-Sun road. Despite having lived in Calgary for nearly twenty years and this being a road reachable in a few hours, it had never worked out schedule-wise for me. I wanted to change that and was very tired of redoing my ride plans. I imagined that this is what it felt like for the Cape Canaveral crew when the shuttle was sitting on the pad, the clock running, and hoping the weather would co-operate for launch day. I have a vivid imagination, or perhaps I’m a “control freak” but either way I was feeling more stress than something like this should bring. I had allowed myself to get just a little excited about this trip (however abbreviated) and had a lot riding on this, emotionally.

http://nifc.maps.arcgis.com/apps/Viewer/index.html?appid=2c694a3f6ba04c0bac90eadd5e02e687

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InciWeb the Incident Information System: Reynolds Creek Fire News Release

There was another little worry after that last trip when a Kidney stone had put me through a bit of pain. Would I have that happen again on this trip and worse south of the border? I had allowed my travel insurance to lapse, another expense that normally I would think nothing of, but this year it was different. Too many incidents of claim-denial had been in the news lately, putting in doubt the usefulness of the coverage. The insurance companies are quick to deny anything that is classified as a pre-existing condition, and this would most certainly be that. Whether they would even cover me when the trip was on a motorcycle and could easily be classified as a “dangerous sporting event”. It seems any excuse to weasel out of coverage was becoming the “norm” for insurance companies. I planned instead to take a small supply of powerful pain killers; enough that I could make the border should the need arise. I envisioned rolling up to Canada Customs and asking them to call an ambulance, Oh the drama!

This season, so far I had managed 2 overnight weekend camping trips and after the last one had repacked and restocked so I was ready to roll. The latest iteration of tracks for “Plan-E” was loaded in my GPS unit, my passport ready, and only a few rotations of the planet and the hard work (and success) of 600 plus fire-fighters separated me from my plan. Lo Que Sea Sera.

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May fortune favor the frustrated!

T-90 hours and counting......
 
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Can't wait to see what becomes of this. I wish all the luck in the world and look forward to seeing your photos!

I started it now as I wanted you to have something to read after a hard days riding the interstates.:poke:

The route, if the preferred tracks are open, will be 70% gravel with a couple of hard-core sections in BC which depend on stream levels to be passable (Red tracks on map). Fire re-route for going to the sun is the most southern pink track (highway #2 in Montana) which I hope to avoid.

Night 1 is now in Saint Mary, MT at the KOA (last spot) unless it gets evacuated again!
 
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are you planning on doing this trip alone? I hope not .

Nope, My friend with the WR250R is along for the trip.

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I think I got my fingers dirty.


That said I have done some trips solo on these roads before without worry. I always carry a SPOT tracker hoping to never use the red buttons on it.

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I also carry "Hiker seasoning" commonly sold as "Bear Spray" to unsuspecting city-folk. I find the refillable marine air horn more effective on hairy carnivores even the banjo playing ones in northern Idaho (eek, no offense, you know who you are, I don't know how to squeal like a piggy, really).
 
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I'm Home

Mostly safe & Sound. Too short, but interesting trip.

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The bridge over lake Kookanusa north of Libby Montana.

I'll start working on the report tomorrow.
 
Day One

Fire! Smoke on the Horizon;

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Despite my wife’s dislike of early morning she was up to see me off on this cool sunny day. Foregoing the traditional start of trips over the last 5 years Cora’s Restaurant was off the menu, settling for a coffee at Tim Horton’s instead.

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Ian arrived punctual as always and we soon departed, taking a brief pavement ride to the Town of High River before starting the “gravel program” for the day. Dusty, straight grid roads connected us to a little more pavement west of Nanton and the picturesque highway 530 briefly before rejoining more gravel south. Riley road was fine until the river valley where they had put down deep fresh gravel mixed with a hardening agent. The gravel was coarse and the ruts solid, throwing the bikes around, much to Ian’s chagrin. When we joined pavement again for a few miles to connect to 520 and Skyline road he gave the road 2 thumbs down!

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Skyline Road and the front range of the rockies in the distance.

We could see the front range of the Rockies by this time again and the smoke was thick in the air giving them a blue tone. Continuing south on Skyline road and then onto Beaver Creek road the path narrowed and twisted its way through forest, thick at times. In the trees the air was cool and aromatic obscuring the smell of smoke for a time. As we continued along Beaver Creek road we eventually passed the camping area at the south end of the Porcupine hills and ran out into the Valley where the road widens and farms again start to appear. Smoke, heat and dust also made an encore here as well and Ian had to drop way back to not choke on the dust. Passing over the Old Man River Dam we see the wind farms north of Pincher Creek before crossing hwy 3 and stopping for fuel.

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Near the border crossing the light had a weird orange tone from the smoke

I opted for a pavement run down past Waterton and across Chief Mountain to Saint Mary on this trip partly to make time on the original plan, wanting to be early to get a spot at a campground. After the fire in Glacier changed those plans and I reserved a spot at the KOA I didn’t change the northern route due to the heat. The last time I slogged through the challenging back-roads down here in the heat it was tough work and this was supposed to be a relaxing day. US Customs was almost people-free with the last customer finishing up as we rolled up and this time we were both waved up together. I mistakenly told the agent that we would be in the states for only 2 days rather than the 3 of reality, a fact that Ian mentioned later at the campground. I blame the heat and smoke since usually I’m ok until I run out of fingers and toes when doing math.

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A Sky-Crane waiting for the call.

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Chinook twin rotor.

A quick blast down Chief Mountain road to highway 89 took us to Babb, where we turned onto West Shore road and a short gravel-run to the campground. As we turned onto West shore road we passed the staging are for the choppers being used for the fire-fight in the park. I stopped to have a look and take pictures of the biggest ones; both a Chinook twin-rotor machine with “Billings” on the fuselage and a Sikorsky Sky-Crane with a tank and umbilical unit attached. The fire fighters and support crews were camped in small tents off to the side of the landing area in a dry grassy field.

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At the KOA I checked in and found our spot in the trees by the river, this part of the campground better than anticipated. I was shocked that despite the dry conditions and the nearby fire that there was no ban on campfires here. Considering the crusty, brown condition of the grass and the thick smoke in the air it seemed ridiculous and we opted not to take the chance. After setting up camp and getting out of the hot riding gear we both took the time to clean up and cool down before exploring the campground, the biggest KOA I had seen. The choppers that we had seen sitting roared overhead on the way to help with a newly flared-up fire, fueled by the heat and winds. The thick plume of smoke drifting just to the north of our campground was partially obscuring the hills east of hwy 89. Rather than cook at the site or gear-up to head into town we opted to use the camp’s cook-house that sounded promising for dinner. The reality was disappointing, especially after our great experience at another KOA in Buena Vista Colorado the year prior. More wandering afterward and a stop in the store for Ice-cream took the day to dusk. The constant buzz of choppers telling me the Sun-road would have to wait for another trip.
 
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Day Two

Banjos and Blood-Curdling Screams in the woods;

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“It was an early morning yesterday; I was up before the dawn. I really have enjoyed this day, but I must be moving on. Goodbye Mary… “For some reason this song by Supertramp played in my head this morning as I packed up camp. The camp cook-shack made an edible but sad breakfast. Good cooks are underappreciated until you don’t have one at your service. I find it amazing that anyone can incinerate bacon and eggs to the point of dryness or make tasteless pancakes when good mixes are available as are easy scratch recipes.

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looking south toward the town of Saint Mary from the exit of the KOA.

The smoke was thick to the south of the camp, hanging across the peaks of Glacier Park and underlining the critical situation they faced. Today promised to be another hot and breezy day, exactly what the fire fighting efforts didn’t need. For my trip it was an unfortunate inconvenience but for the park, and the people that relied on the park for a living, it was far more serious.

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Up above saint Mary on Hwy 89 looking west

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We fueled and stocked supplies for tonight where we knew there would be nothing but scenery, not services. From a photography standpoint the day was beautiful, and despite having to reroute, it wasn’t a bad day for riding either. Highway 89 south of Saint Mary and highway 49 to East Glacier are a couple of my favorite roads covered in pavement. Highway 49 is bumpy and dangerous but rewards the traveler with stunning views. There is no room for error so pulling over is the best way to enjoy the scenery on this short-but-sweet seasonal road. Highway 2 heading west from the Town of East Glacier was a relaxing easy cruise that has a charm of its own more so as you pass the summit and the continental divide. It was still fairly cool as we stopped to top up fuel at the south entrance to Glacier Park. We met some fellow explorers on two wheels and talked bikes and trips for a time before continuing along. I opted not to enter the Park from the south gate, having done Camas road before, instead taking local back-roads to the east to join North Fork road. It was wash-board and ultra dusty for the first short while, before running onto “dust stop” that carried on all the way making for a much better ride especially for Ian who was running “dust eater” while I “bird dogged” up front.

We stopped at the Polebridge bakery for an overpriced huckleberry bear-claw and coffee. They are good especially when they are warm, early in the morning, but not worth the price they charge. Having helped support the tourist trade in the area we carried on along the rocky, bumpy road to the Ranger station and only west gate to Glacier National Park. Toll paid, we enjoyed the narrow, twisting, tree-lined tunnel of a road up to Bowman Lake. Only Kintla Lake is more northern and remote in the Park than Bowman, but Lake Bowman is more picturesque.

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A paddleboarder heads out near sunset.

The campground takes bear and Cougar safety seriously with strict rules that food must be kept in metal “Bear boxes” provided throughout the campground. Unless you are cooking nothing is to be left at your individual site or ever unattended. The camp warden told us about a camper in a hammock that was nudged by a curious young Grizzly in the night and I could relate all too well to the story.
We set up camp and took time to enjoy a wash and swim in the crystal clear and cool lake and easy walk from our tent-site. It had been a long time since I had the time to just sit and relax and go for a swim and I quite enjoyed the tranquility. The smoke at the east end of the lake became thicker during the day which told the tale as to how the Reynolds Creek Fire was going across the park.

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Back at camp having dinner we could hear someone playing a banjo and the inevitable jokes about hearing banjos in the woods came out. Later after dark with just a few voices and the crackling of campfires (how crazy is that all things considered) in full dark, a woman started screaming in terror. It was not just a single scream, but went on and sounded like she was running around. Children a few sites south of us started crying, and other muffled voices could be heard talking. This woman sounded like she was being murdered or eaten by a bear. There were armed border patrol and the warden in the campground so I just listed and waited. After a while, she stopped and then could be heard saying “sorry, sorry” over and over, so who knows what had set her off, but she definitely was not being mauled by a Grizzly. Everything calmed down and all the voices dropped off as the campground settled in for the night. Then the “scream queen” started again, just like the last time. Just like the boy who cried wolf, this time, all I heard in response was another woman yell (in total disgust) “shut up already!” and it sounded like someone had put a hand over her mouth as the screams became muffled. Maybe the Banjo player had gone rogue, or a bear did get her that time, but after the early false alarm no one was too interested in rushing to her aid. I slept well despite the deep woods, horror movie style entertainment.
 
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Day Three

Smuggler’s trail;

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Waking at Bowman Lake I saw no signs of carnage from the previous evening’s horror soundtrack as I wandered through the trees to go clean up. A quick breakdown of camp and typical outback breakfast followed of oatmeal and coffee for me anyway. Ian prefers canned protein (usually fish or Spam, preferably Turkey Spam) and fresh fruit, long ingrained hiker habits I suspect but not my “cup of tea”. He is the far more fit of the two of us so it must be working for him. The road into camp the previous day was fun but too narrow to risk stopping to take a picture of with its terrible sight-lines and blind corners. We were the first up and moving so I took the chance on the way out. I put on my 4-way flashers out of habit more than the chance that it would have made a difference had another vehicle came along.

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We skipped another stop at the Polebridge store to drain more cash from our wallets and carried on toward Eureka along a rough 4X4 road near the Canada US Border. I had plotted a track that looked interesting on Google Earth (my first mistake) that was an offshoot from the trail we were on. It came within a hundred feet of the Canadian border at its northernmost point with just a stream between the two countries. We had lots of time and decided to check it out. It was fairly overgrown but clearly passable with just a bit of rock-fall along its length to keep you on alert. Like so many trails it was an old disused logging road that hugged the hillsides and rider mistakes would be costly. Eventually it rounded a corner to dead end in thick brush. A couple of small signs a gravel berm stopped us and a narrow single track carried on north. We both did recon over the berm which would have been doable by both machines, but the path was thickly lined with underbrush and this close to the border likely patrolled. The last thing we wanted was to do was risk trouble with the border patrol on a path off-limits to motorized vehicles. Later that day I would find out from our camp host that the road (when it still was a road) was a favorite for “BC Bud importers”, back-in-the-day. Considering his self purported “Hippy” status (and being the right demographic) I will take his word for it and not ask where he gleaned the information.

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Smuggler's trail

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A likely excuse for the closure, smugglers being the endangered species I suspect!

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Doable but not a good idea.

We returned to the original track and carried on across to Eureka, stopping to enjoy the spectacular back-woods of northern Montana despite the thick smoke from several forest fires of unknown origin.

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Single lane pristine pavement before highway 93 east of Eureka!

We restocked our provisions, and briefly chatted with a couple from Saskatchewan in Eureka before visiting Jax Café for Brunch. The Café was extremely busy but seemed to clear out shortly after we arrived. We just caught the tale end of the breakfast rush it would seem, or maybe the lake had not washed off the sweat and smoke well enough, but I’ll never know, nor care. The food was good as always and I will recommend the stop should anyone find themselves in Eureka Montana.

Feeling refreshed after a good hot meal and air conditioned comfort, we re-entered the climbing heat and smoke of northern Montana outside. Leaving town the same way we entered on Tobacco road we headed west across to lake Kookanusa to cross the big bridge north of the Libby dam.

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We turned right and ran pavement (surprisingly) almost all the way to Yaak Montana, not far from where we would camp. The smoke was bad and the heat oppressive as we rolled into our camp spot for the night, Pete Creek, by the Yaak River. The river was historically low, but still moving quickly and icy-cold. The campground was small with only 14 sites but had an amazing elevation change, being built on a rocky prominence beside the river and was thickly treed. Each site had its own bear box, big enough to use as a refuge should a hungry bear fancy a meal of tourist. I checked, the latch could be worked from the inside (go figure).

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After setting up and exploring we both did laundry in the frigid river as well as having a “camper bath”. It was a bit chilly for swimming despite there being a good calm spot beside small rapids. Ian related a story that had been told by Dolly Parton on a TV talk-show long ago. In the story, Dolly Parton had related how growing up in a household with a communal bath you would wash from the top down as far as possible, and from your feet up as far as possible, then after the adults went to bed you would “wash possible”. That is sort of how a camper-bath in ice-cold water went. I commented that with the water temperature, “it would be hard to find possible.”


To get to the swimming hole you had to traipse through a short section of woods and down a rocky hill, and the second time I went down I was all alone, the other campers gone, and I felt somewhat vulnerable, not sure what I would do should a bear make an appearance, since they were fast and could swim. As luck would have it no Ursus Horribilus made an appearance much to my relief. I relaxed, wandered around the camp and talked to our Hippy host for a time enjoying another good day. Ian spent some time reading his tablet, catching up on his favorite automotive magazines.
 
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Day Four

My Own Private Idaho & a Weird Canada Entry Toll;

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Morning bug out was the same as always except for breakfast I had a couple of Cliff bars, not being able to resupply my instant oatmeal and the last stock point. Really it was the same thing in different form with a few new chemicals added for flavour. The food had all been stored in the bear box well away from the tents the night before. it was hard to tell if it was cloudy or smokey or both but I could make out the moon through the huge trees.

A short run up the highway west connected us with our chosen path and soon became narrow and grown-in but with construction at the start and evidence of at least some occaisional trafffic along its length. a long way in and fairly high up elevation-wise we came across a new wood bridge and obviously man-made landscaping, likely done to repair spring-flow damage. It was only unusual regarding the "terra-scaping" since no one in Canada would take the time to arrange rocks, or even clear dead-fall timber.

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We climbed quite high in elevation before the trail veered off across a short, narrow and really rocky connector. With a heavily loaded big bike and some large rocks, (some round, some angular and sharp) it was work to navigate down but done sucessfully. Ian did it in his usual non-dramatic casual fashion. At the bottom of this little test we turned left onto narrow grown-in pavement, a remnant from the glory days of logging in the area 40 years before. Not often travelled we crossed into Idaho along it and came to a fantastic viewpoint, stopping to take pictures and revel in the view.

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The pavement went on for miles and despite the thick brush each side and the occaisional frost heave was in amazing condition with zero traffic other than a Moose and her calf that I gave space to as they trotted ahead of us looking for a safe place to exit the road on the steep hill-side. As this lost pavement continued to lower elevations, sections of gravel appeared where repairs had been done without the log companies budget and pot holes appeared with greater frequency. We passed one forest service truck before getting to the planned cut across to Moyie River road and Big Road-Closed Signs.

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Being curious and stubborn I briefly discussed options with Ian and we decided to go have a look to see if we might manage to make it past the construction. Maybe 200 meters in we came across the said construction and work crew. I rode up to the presumed supervisor in his pick-up truck, a huge crane blocking the road just behind him. He was pleasant and joked that we could try to "jump it" if we liked. Even Evil Kinevil might have declined since the angle of the old wood bridge (lifted off its base and moved over) would have had us miss the road bed (blocked by another big truck) on the other side of the river gorge. My sense of adventure has limits and I hadn't renewed my Blue Cross coverage for this trip.


Back to the road closed signs and a quick reroute by plugging in a couple of "waypoints" and we were headed south to highway 2 in Idaho. Across the huge Moyie River bridge, missing the view-point for a picture (next time) and right onto Eileen Creek road to connect via a narrow 2-track to Moyie River road. It was an entertaining and rocky little trail that crossed the main rail line maybe 4 or 5 times and once at the Moyie River road junction I stopped. Ian came over and asked if I "was some sort of idiot savant" and "how did you manage such a quick work around without the topographical map like he had" I laughed and showed him that the City Navigator map in my GPS had these tiny back roads on it as well. Now, back on track the remaining route was paved up to the Canada border south of Creston, BC. We stopped at a viewpoint high above the plain below to look at the intense smoke from what were fires in both Washington and BC before continuing to the Porthill border crossing. I had fun in the corners railing the bike around some of the sharper turns all the way through the last kilometer to the crossing.

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As I rolled up to the customs window the front tire started to feel very unresponsive and was totally flat when I looked down. I asked the customs officer if I could park just up ahead to repair my flat and he said it was fine. According to Ian, 45 minutes later we were underway again, a new tube (his) in place since my spare had a bigger hole than the tiny pinch flat in the one that I had removed. I would have patched the one removed but my patch glue was dried up. I had meant to check that before the trip but that particular detail had escaped my brain. Ian wanted pictures of my filthy hands after the repair to be a poster-child for why wearing rubber gloves for repairs (i had some and he offered some but I declined) was a good idea. He had wet-wipes so I cleaned up before carrying on and we just missed having a group of Harley riders see the repair job, phew! I'm not sure I could bare the ridicule.

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Face says it all. photo courtesy of Ian Beales

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Pulling the offending tube. photo courtesy of Ian Beales

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Dirty Job, but I had to do it. photo courtesy of Ian Beales

In Creston from the gas station lot I could see a new bike shop; Koot Motorcycles on the next street, and we idled over after fueling up. He apparently had a 21" tube coming on a shipment that day, his shop was very new and in the process of getting stocked. He obviously catered to the Harley crowd with a couple of used ones in the showroom and one on the lift for repairs in the shop. He was a pleasant older guy and as we were leaving a truck showed up. Sadly that truck did not have the shipment we needed so we carried on. In the parking lot of the grocery store, after a quick shop, a couple I was talking to gave me intel' on a shop a few blocks away that might have tubes. As it turned out "Comfort Welding" did since they were really a multi-pupose hardware, repair and welding shop. I bought two 21" tubes, giving one to Ian to replace the one that he had supplied me with.


We casually trolled up the supposedly "best biking road in BC" stopping at The Glass House" and weird home made entirely of embalming fluid bottles and mortar. I'm not kidding, look it up. A brief picture from across the highway, since I had done the tour years before when my children were too young to be creeped out by how many dead bodies that house represents (I know right!) and Ian had no interest in paying for the tour.

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A short bout of rain and a short time later we pulled into Cedar Grove Campground for the night right at the western end of Grey Creek Pass, on tomorrow's agenda. Although the campground was not as nice as the internet would have you believe, it had enough going for it, mostly location (and our site was nice) that it would do.

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I had a wander down to the nearby beach to cool off after visiting the Grey Creek Store for a cold Dr. Pepper something I had not had in years. We could actually see the road up to the pass from our camp spot and I saw two bikes, one coming down and one heading up while I relaxed in my campchair. A few drops of rain fell during the evening but didn't amount to anything.

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Pasty white guy legs and feet scaring the fish away!
 
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Thank you for the updates. You know, I still haven't ridden 'Creston to Kootenay Bay'! I've got to get to that this year :)

Dustin,

I tell you, it will disapoint you. With the north 30 kms the speed limit is 60 kph! It feels like walking speed on a bike. The rest to Creston is 80 kph, ho-hum BORING. There was a time that the speed was 90 all along and the fines were not so draconian, back then it was a great road. Now it is a scenic toodle for old people in campers. Kaslo to New Denver beats it HANDS DOWN.

Rip that page out of the Destinations Highways book and throw it away, I did.

A few more tire changing shots that would not fit in my original post;


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Getting to work left caliper only coming off. Representin' for the forum, well sort of...... retro style!
photo courtesy of Ian Beales

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Ready (almost) to pull the axle and remove the wheel.
photo courtesy of Ian Beales

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photo courtesy of Ian Beales
 
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