6 Wheels North: Getting Dirty

 

We were both awake by 5:00, but didn't begin to make any progress toward departure until 5:30.  We'd arranged to have breakfast at the main lodge at 7:00, so had plenty of time.  A quick glance at the bikes revealed that it may have showered some in the night.  I thought I'd heard some thunder.  Or perhaps it was just a heavy dew.

Later, as we were about to begin our walk to the house, my phone rang.  It was Floyd!  He was in the small city of Thompson, having just driven down from the lodge he operates in the village of Kinoosao the evening before.  And his report on the road was quite positive.

"Well, we'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then!" I vowed.  "Thanks for calling me back."

The breakfast Audrey prepared was incredible!  Besides the normal hot items, there were various homemade jams, breads, and pastries.  We ate with her son and grandson, and a couple of ranch hands.  They were all very amiable, and it was enjoyable to hear their stories.  I took my leave a bit early, however, to see if I could cancel the extra night's reservation I'd made for Thompson (just in case it looked like we wouldn't be able to make it all the way north to Kinoosao).

We didn't get off until 8:30 that morning of Day 3.  I'd had to call the hotel in Thompson twice, in addition to the online travel website I'd used for the original booking.  In the end, I'd had to cancel both nights, then make a new reservation for a single one--at a higher cost, of course.  I'd even employed my father's help (via text) to run down a phone number I couldn't seem to find.  It was quite the saga, and I did not rein in my frustration with the web agent very well.  It was not my finest hour.  Before hanging up, though, I apologized--and thanked him for being much more patient with me than I'd been with him.

What I needed was a long stretch of gravel road to help shake out my tension.  And this one did the job nicely!  The first 50 miles were mostly well maintained, with a few spots where you could tell they'd recently attempted to fix some washouts--with varying degrees of success.

I let Dan take the lead, and he said he'd wait up for me at the only major junction before the Manitoba border.  It looked like dust was going to be an issue, so I knew we'd be out of sight of each other for most of the way.  No one likes to ride in a dust cloud--including the motorcycles themselves.  Air filters do clog up.  And internal combustion engines need air.  (I know this from sad experience.)  

By this time, I was in the lead again.  Dan had pulled over at a junction he thought was the one.  But when I caught up, we determined it was still ahead--and he took the rear position.  When I saw this nice, shady spot just off the main road, however, I thought it might be time for a snack break!

Standing up for a while is always good too.  And this was an ideal position from which to spot his lights coming into view--and stride out to the road to ensure he saw me.  If he were to pass by and think I was still in front, that could be problematic.  I was quite sure our cell phones would be of no use here in helping us reconnect.

Reenergized from our brief pause in momentum (and intake of calories and fluids).  Dan resumed the lead.  Here, I stopped for a photo from the highest hill we'd summitted since Moose Mountain the day before.  Some have asked if it's all flat up there in central Canada--but that's not the case.  No, it's not the Rockies.  But it's not Kansas, either.

Not far from the bottom of that big hill, I found Dan parked at the intersection with Route 55.  This photo is somewhat misleading.  The narrow trail on the trikes' starboard side is a dead end.  Route 9/55 continues past the picture's left edge to The Pas, Manitoba (as the road sign in the trees indicates).  Behind us (off the picture's right edge) is Hudson Bay, where we'd just come from.  The road to Nipawin and Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (55) extends west from the trikes' port side.  That's all very important to you, I'm sure.  And I've been happy to explain it.

I was also very happy to be in the shade, as it was getting to be late morning--and the day was heating up fast.  It had been a fun road, though!  And it felt great to be back on Canadian gravel after a two-year hiatus.

We each performed a quick check of our machines and luggage.  My custom system for toting touring gear over rough roads had previously been refined over 1,000+ miles of gravel in Canada's Northwest Territories, The Yukon, and more recently in Montana.  But it would be foolish not to keep a wary eye on things.  Dan's equipment was still in the early testing phase.  But, so far, so good!

Another 25 miles brought us to the edge of the pavement at the Manitoba border.  It's always exciting to leave the blacktop--and always a relief to find it again!  Okay, sometimes it's terrifying to leave the blacktop--but disappointing to find it again.  But those are the exceptions.

The first five miles of combined route 9/55 had been fairly nice--though the predictions of heavy truck traffic were well-founded.  The last 20, however, had had alternating sections of shallow mud and deep dusty/sandy ruts.  Unfortunately, I didn't get any photos of it--was too preoccupied with staying on the road while still maintaining forward momentum, I guess.  But the loose shoulder we're parked on here is quite similar to what we'd encountered across the entire road width, at times.  A slightly different riding technique was required.  But we both got the hang of it--soon enough.

After 25 miles of rough pavement, we made it to the town of The Pas, pronounced, "The Paw."  The history of settlement in the area includes native peoples, French military officers, French and Canadian traders, and Anglican missionaries.  And the 5,500ish-population town still incorporates a mix of cultures, religions, and industries.

We stopped for gas downtown, then were able to squeeze into a shady spot beside the convenience store for a longer break.  Besides the items I'd purchased there, Dan sliced up and shared an apple he'd brought all the way from Oregon.  It was still crisp and delicious!  A few young locals struck up a conversation with me while Dan was inside.  They had lots of questions about the U.S. and our trikes.  None of them had ever seen a Ryker before, even though Can-Am is a Canadian company.  Granted, the nearest dealer was probably 300 miles away.

From there, we turned north onto the much better maintained Highway 10.  It was only 30 miles to the tiny community of Wanless, but we knew the next stretch would be exceedingly long, so we stopped there for fuel as well.

"Nice new store," you say, "but where are the pumps?"

"Behind us!" I say.  We stopped at that above-ground tank first, then pulled up to get out of the way for others--and to get closer to the cold drinks.

This was not my first time in Wanless, but I don't remember a store.  In fact, I had camped on the shore of a lake near here eleven years ago.  I was heading to Churchill (on Hudson Bay) astride my first KTM.  Coincidentally, I'd passed within half an hour of Dan's place on my way out of Oregon.  I'm sure I'd told him where I was going.  And I'm nearly as sure that he'd been a tad envious.  So, perhaps this current trip was, in part, an attempt to atone for that one.

In a dozen miles, we turned east onto Highway 39 and began traversing Grass River Provincial Park.  The river is rarely (if ever) apparent from the road, but multiple lakes are at least briefly visible.  I pulled into this gravel parking area and Dan followed suit.

A short but steep trail led down to the rocky shoreline.  The water was amazingly clear, but a slight breeze created a dimpled surface.

I'm contractually obligated to include at least one selfie every other blog post--for Mom.  This one's not too bad.  I think what looks like a stubby orange worm on my cheek is the sunlight shining through one of the vents in my visor.

Shortly after snapping this photo, the clouds began to thicken and darken overhead.  We weren't really that excited about the prospect of rain--and even less so about lightning--but with the sun hidden, temperatures finally fell to a much more pleasant level.

Forty miles past the park (at the junction with Highway 6 South) we came upon a scene which could have been very concerning, if we hadn't been expecting it.  Those pumps behind the fence were obviously brand new, but not yet operational.  This was formerly the site of the Ponton Junction Motel, restaurant, and gas station.  It had been a lifeline for me (and countless others) eleven years ago--the only services along a 245-mile stretch of road--but burned to the ground only three years after I was there.

While making plans for this trip, I'd discovered its fate--and that it had not been rebuilt.  Fortunately, Dan's research had found the gas station back in Wanless--and one more to come (Wabowden), between this junction and Thompson.  We knew we carried enough extra fuel (in all those red jugs) to make it if Wanless had been closed, but Wabowden was open.  I wasn't sure how we'd fare if it was the other way around.

But we were about to find out.  This is the public-access Wabowden fuel pump--30 miles farther up the road from where that last photo was taken.  The paper notice taped over the company logo reads, "GAS PUMPS ARE OFFLINE AT THE MOMENT."

In the Scriptures, Peter wrote that "with the Lord, a day is like a thousand years."  Question was, to a shopkeeper in extremely rural northern Manitoba--how long was a moment?

  

6 Wheels North: Getting Rough

 

Upon waking on Day 2, there was quite a bit of fog hanging over Powers Lake and town.  By the time we were loaded and ready to go, however, the air was largely clear.

Riding east on Highway 50, we soon turned north onto Hwy 8.  For several miles we crossed, then flanked the Lostwood National Wildlife Refuge.  The road rose and fell among multiple lakes and beautiful grasslands.  Neither of us had been there before.  The adventure had begun!

We'd left the Hygge Hotel around 7:30 and arrived at North Dakota's border with Saskatchewan (after a fuel stop in Bowbells) about ten minutes before it opened at 9:00.  We were first in line.

The sign on the right (behind us) is the Welcome to ND one.  Guess we were sitting in no-man's land here.

But right on schedule, a couple of officials showed up to open the gates, and we had no issues getting through into Canada.  Hwy 8 in North Dakota became Hwy 9 in Saskatchewan.  The plan was to follow that for the rest of the day--all the way to the small town of Hudson Bay.

Moose Mountain Provincial Park (not the photo above) was a brief exception to the prevailing rule of seemingly endless prairie.  It had enough forest and topographic relief to keep us engaged to the point that we didn't want to stop the fun to take any pictures.  I also looked closely at each body of water we crossed within the park's boundaries--but saw no moose.

When the road straightened out again, Dan pulled over at this historical marker.  It tells the story of an old French settlement, if memory serves.

And the crescent moon gravel drive provided the perfect location to check the loads, open some jacket vents, and share a snack.  Back when we crossed Idaho together, Dan had learned how much I like dried banana chips.  So, he'd brought along a huge bag of 'em to share--just one of the many good reasons for inviting him on this trip!

It was also a good opportunity to refold the paper map in my tank bag window.  That green blob at the bottom is Moose Mountain.  The purple highlighting up the center is the zig-zagging, predominately rural route of Hwy 9.

This was our first gas stop north of the border--a Petro-Canada station, appropriately.  Since my last visit to the region, tap-to-pay has become widespread, making filling up for U.S. citizens a bit more convenient.  I used to have to go inside every time.

Of course, as warm as it was this trip, I went inside at least every other time anyway--to get another ice cold drink!  Turns out, two Rykers can fit perfectly, nose to nose, in a standard length parking space.  Wonder what they're talking about.

CO-OP is another Canadian brand of go juice, but this facility did not provide retail sales.  It did, however, provide a nice large space for walking off a few hours worth of riding position confinement.

It's pretty close to 600 miles between Sturgis, South Dakota, and Sturgis, Saskatchewan.  We passed through them both on consecutive days.  This is not a great photo of the latter's welcome sign (upper right corner), but it does show off my monogrammed leather crossbar pad, complete with pewter globe pin.  And no, on this particular cycle (without a crossbar), it doesn't serve any useful function--except that it adds a classic touch to an otherwise ultra-modern design.  And it makes me think of the dear friend in Tillamook who hand crafted it for me!

I'll make one more point about this picture before moving on.  The "MAXIMUM 40" speed limit sign (kph) converts to about 25 mph.  But there's no longer any need to continually run through calculations in my head as I ride through Canada.  Ryker's dash can easily be configured to show kilometers per hour in the bottom right corner!  That freed up more gray matter for converting liters to gallons.

Can't remember why we stopped here--or where it was.  But both machines are striking an impressive pose, don't you think?  Oh, I may have been attempting to show the point near which the grasslands fully succumbed to the forests.  It was finally beginning to look like The North!

Also, I noted in my journal that though paved, the 40-mile stretch from Sturgis to Hudson Bay was extremely rough--with cracks, heaves, and patches.  In fact, one spot that we'd been warned about via Saskatchewan's online highway conditions map was completely broken through.  It looked like a culvert had plugged and the road had washed out.  But by the time we passed over it, it had been graded and compacted somewhat, and we had no real problems getting through.

So, now that I think about it, the reason for the stop above was probably to take a break from the relentless pounding.  Rykers are not known for delivering a magic carpet-like ride.

We made it to Hudson Bay in the middle of the hot afternoon--the 1,400-population town, not the giant body of water hundreds of miles to the northeast.  After topping off with fuel, we headed straight for the restaurant that was recommended by our soon-to-be B&B hostess when I first made the reservation.  The Railway Avenue Pub was certainly not busy, but it was enthralling.  The first order of business was procuring a tall, iced tea.

After ordering our meals, a man approached from the bar (not the one in the photo).  He was a local who had seen our cycles out front and was curious as to our travel plans.  Upon hearing about our intention to continue north in the morning--onto the unpaved portion of Highway 9--he grew concerned.  Confirming what we had learned before leaving home, he told us about all the recent storms and flooding.  Vowing to contact some friends about the road's current condition, he returned to his stool and extracted his phone.  

When our food arrived, it looked fantastic--and the taste lived up to the appearance!  As we were eating, our newest friend came back to deliver what ended up being the first of three reports.  All were fairly positive.  There were some bad spots, but the road was still passable.  In fact, one of his sources had just driven it, pulling a trailer.  Another, however, cautioned about heavy construction truck traffic on the last segment--after a major junction with another gravel highway to the west.  That one was being improved.

"That's good news about the road!" we responded.  "Thanks for checking--and thanks for the heads-up about all the trucks.  "We'll take it as slow as we need to--to get there in one piece," we assured him.

When it came time to pay our bills, Dan's credit card of choice was declined, and he had to use his back-up.  By that time, the place had finally gotten busier (on the other side of the room), so he stepped out onto the patio to call the issuing bank.

Twenty minutes later, he had his purchasing power restored--and at least a partial answer as to what had happened.  There'd been a fraud alert placed after we'd left that last gas station.

Our accommodations for the night were a couple miles outside of town and about a mile down a gravel road--according to the directions on the website.  As it turned out, the Fir River Ranch would have been difficult to miss.

Both sides of the driveway were very well marked.

This would be a little different than our first night on the road had been.  We were looking forward to the more personal touch that Bed & Breakfast establishments normally offer.  And the working ranch aspect of this one was intriguing as well.  My father and I stayed at a similar place in British Columbia once and really enjoyed it.

Driving up to the main lodge first (not pictured) we met Audrey, who showed us a few sleeping options.  One was in the basement of that building, but she had some out-of-town family members staying there as well.  Next, we followed her up the lane to a pleasant average-sized cabin.  I was about to say, "This'll work!" when she mentioned that there was one more option.

Then she opened the door to the Moose Meadows cabin (above).  It's enormous!  Though this picture doesn't show nearly all of it.  But its most attractive feature for us was the long log table--especially helpful for an avowed paper mapper, such as myself.  I hesitated to commandeer Audrey's prime real estate, but she insisted it was available--for the same price!  The deal was done.

Eight queen-size beds were positioned comfortably around the main level and two lofts.  A full-sized fridge and sink were also available for our use.  It didn't take long for us to bring in and spread out our gear appropriately.  But the thought occurred to me that it would be harder not to forget anything in the morning.  One advantage to small motel rooms is that everything remains in sight and only a few steps away.  Somehow, we'd manage.

Before settling in for the night, Dan rode back to the gas station to ask about his credit issue.  They told him he'd taken off without paying!  He informed them that if that was true, it was certainly not his intention--and offered to pay (again).  But they'd already "written it off."

When he returned, Dan walked down to the next building in this photo (the bathhouse) to take a shower.  But there was no hot water.  I summoned Audrey, and soon she came to assess the situation.  Between the two of them, a solution was enacted, and somewhat later, Dan got his shower.  It wasn't exactly hot, he reported, but it wasn't ice cold either.

To increase my chances of a more soothing experience, I delayed my visit until after I'd taken a short walk up a gated road into the forest (the opposite direction the camera is facing here).  I also took a moment to leave a voice mail message for Floyd, the proprietor of the lodge where we hoped to spend our farthest north night--about 48 hours hence.  I was still concerned about the condition of that road--even more so than we had been about the one we would ride the next morning.  Washouts had closed it to all but "local traffic," just a week or so before we departed.  I hoped he'd call back soon.

The last cabin on the left in this photo is the smaller one we'd been shown.  In the distance, you can see part of the white main lodge/house.  Shortly beyond that is the "county" road.  Once I'd returned from my stroll, I collected some things and tried out one of the showers--nice and HOT!  We turned in at a quarter till ten, having covered 345 miles that day.  Tomorrow, we'd take the trip's inaugural off-pavement segment--75 miles to the Manitoba border.