Iron Creek Lake

 

There's a lot wrong with this photo, technically speaking.  In my defense, the low angle of the late October sun didn't help.  Nor did the fact that even though this was the first time I'd taken out the camera since leaving my garage hours earlier, I was already behind schedule!

I know - excuses, excuses.  But I had to take the photo, because it helps tell the story.  And by this time, the story was already a pretty good one - mostly.  Sure, I could have taken the Interstate to Sturgis, where I'd stopped to fuel up the Ryker.  It would have saved thirty minutes.  But the ride over Norris Peak Road and through Vanocker Canyon had been pure moto bliss.

Then, when I filled my new three-wheeler's tank and did the calculation, I realized I had gotten 36 miles per gallon!  That's much better than the previous time, when the engine was still breaking in - and exactly the same as the on-board computer had been telling me.  Good to know.

But back to the photo.  I left the blacktop just southwest of Spearfish and rode 12 miles of gravel to get to this sign at the junction with Iron Creek Lake Road.  Now, that had already doubled the Ryker's previous off-pavement record, but I had a lot more of that in mind for this trip!

Within a mile, I was parked by the only significant Black Hills lake I had not made it to in the previous 18 months, since my wife and I moved to South Dakota.  Okay, technically there's one more - but it's in Wyoming, and not really connected to the rest of "The Hills."

Here, the sun angle worked to my advantage, as Ryker struck quite a daring pose and cast quite a substantial shadow.  It may be short in stature, but it's a force to be reckoned with!

The lake is not bad either, but let's face it - the real reason for the trip was to find out if Ryker has what it takes to do some serious adventure traveling.  And the first few miles of gravel had been even more of a test than I'd hoped for - WASHBOARDS!  

Just that morning, I'd been warned by a friend at church that Tinton road was "pretty rough."  But we haven't been traveling together yet, so I didn't know if his idea of "rough" was anything similar to my idea of "rough."  Now I know.  It is.

They probably weren't the worst washboards I've ever negotiated, but they weren't too far off that mark.  Ryker handled it better than Ural would have, but it was no picnic, as they say.  To the Can-Am's credit, nothing shook loose or even began rattling or squeaking.  But I was glad I didn't have to go back that way!

Closer to the shore, I dismounted again - for more photos!  This one shows two, no three, recent additions.  Besides the bike itself, this ride was also a test of that new windshield and a mounting system I'd devised for my old tank-bag.  The screen is a bit larger than I was wanting, but I was unable to find something smaller that wasn't too small - or too ugly.  I might cut it down to size later with a good band-saw, but it's not as problematic as I'd feared.  It shakes a bit and creates a little turbulence, but I might be getting used to it.  Airflow management on bikes is always a tricky compromise between benefits and negatives.  We'll see.

The tank-bag stayed put fairly well, but it could be better, I think.  I'll keep working on it.  I love the position though.  And the extra storage it provides is essential.  Just for this day-trip, I had the glove box (in front of the handlebars) full of emergency items like my tire repair kit and basic tools.  So the tank-bag is for convenience items like drinks, snacks, sunglasses, and different gloves.

Oh yes, the third item I mentioned is the sticker at the bottom of the windscreen.  Ryker is now the fourth of my bikes to sport a replica Dakar Rally race decal.  Ryker's number is 5110.  Acquired at age 51, it's my 10th motorcycle.  I'll have to get a better shot of it for you next time.

Iron Creek Lake is a nice spot.  There's a trail that wraps all the way around it, so I'll have to come back with Kim sometime and do that.  My plan was to head home via the road to the south.  Assuming it's better than the one from the north had been, that's the way we'll return in the car.

And I'll make sure the store is open for that trip.  It's already closed for the winter.  Would be nice to drop in for some picnic food and a cold beverage.  Behind me here, there are also cabins you can rent.  Perhaps we'll make a weekend out of it!

Before leaving the area, there was one more place I wanted to check out.  It's a few miles west of the lake, down a narrower and somewhat rutted road, I found out.  I had to take it slow and choose my route carefully in a few places, to avoid scraping bottom with Ryker's limited ground clearance.  It was an off-road test of a different kind, but I eventually arrived at the junction for the Fillmore Mine.

If I could just make it across this uneven cattle guard, the road looked better on the other side.  Easy does it.

And I was over.  At first, it was better.  But a steep descent soon had me thinking I should have turned around while I had the chance!

I passed a few cabins in varying degrees of upkeep before spotting the primary mine structure on top of this hill.  There didn't appear to be any easy way of getting closer - and a sign had warned about trespassing.  So I swung a U-turn at the next wide spot in the road, waving at some kids as I did so.  According to the Internet, some of the cabins can be rented.  But the ambiance there wasn't nearly as inviting as the area around Iron Creek Lake had been - a little foreboding, actually.

On my way out, I again squeezed by this large puddle in the road - needing only to dip one tire inside the edge.  If presented with a similar obstacle next season, I'll likely blast through the middle and see how big a splash I can make!  But hey, Ryker's still got less than 500 miles on the odometer.  Gotta baby it a little.

Twenty minutes later I was back on the main road - and happy for it!  Besides the cattleguard at the mine road junction, there had been one more.  It was no problem going in, but coming out, I'd hugged the opposite side and dropped my left front wheel into a gaping hole where part of one of the cross bars had been removed for some reason.  It was quite a jolt to both man and machine.  So much for the babying.  But Ryker didn't seem to be riding any differently.  Once I picked up some speed on this nicer road, it would be easier to tell if I'd done any damage.

So far so good.  The road south was much better than the way I'd come.  I was able to get up to 60 miles per hour in brief bursts between corners!  Not only did I satisfy myself that the front end was still true, I determined that Ryker is quite tough, stable, and a lot of fun on a well-graded gravel road!

I passed a ghost town of sorts before I arrived here at Highway 85.  It was certainly worthy of a few photos, but I knew I was still behind schedule so I didn't stop.  At this point, I was only five paved miles from the Wyoming border.  But I couldn't afford to tack on a ten-mile round trip, just to say Ryker's been there.  Another opportunity will arise.

On the way home, I did take a three-mile gravel shortcut to bypass the towns of Lead and Deadwood.  That brought my total unpaved road miles for this outing to 64, beating Ryker's previous record by around thirteen times!

The next day, I gave the Can-Am a thorough inspection - inside and out.  Nothing appears to have scraped the underside, and the air filter is still surprisingly clean after all that dust.  I did find one somewhat loose plastic part (the engine air intake), but it's possible it was like that before.  I couldn't figure out any way to tighten it.  Next time I'm at the dealer, I'll check the Rykers in the showroom to see if that piece has similar play.  

In short, I'm rather impressed with the way Ryker performed on its nearly 200-mile mixed-surface adventure.  It doesn't like washboards much more than Ural did.  But my previous two-wheelers didn't really either.  This bike number 10 is not perfect, but it handles paved twisties, freeways, gravel, and even controlled doses of dirt fairly admirably.  I think it's a step in the right direction!

New Wheels!

 

Yes, that's me and the new Ryker on our first unpaved outing since picking it up at the dealer on the last day of August.  I know, it took me THAT long to post some pictures?!  In my defense, it's been quite a busy month of four-wheel travel and out-of-state guests.  In fact, my parents and sister were visiting from Oklahoma when it finally came in.  Dad took me across town in his rental car to sign the papers, watch me saddle up for the first time, and follow me home.

Often called a "reverse trike," the lone powered wheel is in the rear, connected to the 900cc three-cylinder engine with a fully enclosed drive shaft.  That tire is as wide as a car's!  In this photo, you can also see the white coils of the single adjustable shock, between the bottom of the seat and that enormous aluminum swingarm.

Up front, there are no hand controls other than the twist-grip throttle (and a few buttons, of course).  The transmission is "continuously variable," like a snowmobile's, so there is no clutch lever or gear shift.  The only foot control is a brake pedal above the right peg.  It squeezes the disks on all three wheels at once.  Convenience features include a lever for engaging reverse - and cruise control!  I've ordered a windshield that should arrive in a couple of days.

Besides the old "too busy" excuse, another reason I am just now getting around to showing off my new steed is that Ryker is finally sporting its full tri-color livery!  The white, yellow, and orange panels on the sides of the cowling and the similar accent on the hood were not included when I originally took delivery.  There are many styles available for these pieces, and I had to special order the ones I wanted.  These harken back to the original dirt bikes Can-Am produced and raced in the 1970s.  1972 was their first year, in fact - and mine as well!

Of course, the orange reminds me of Ural, and of my KTMs before that.  And you may have noticed I found a way to attach the leather cross-bar pad that was a custom-made gift from my dear friend Rich, back in Tillamook.  I'm nothing if not traditional.  Well, as traditional as one can get with a future-inspired, armored bug looking, 80-some horsepower backwards tricycle!

Now Plugged in RoadRUNNER magazine!

 

That's right, you can now find a short write-up of my new book, North to Wrigley: End of the Summer Road, in Road RUNNER Motorcycle Touring & Travel magazine!  No, that's not me on the cover - not this month, anyway.  But it kind of looks like some of the peaks I passed on that trip.

My bit is right in the center of page 12, in a section titled MOTOMARKET.  Pick up the October '23 issue at your favorite magazine seller!  As a subscriber, I get mine a bit early, but it should be available on stands by the end of August.  It's quite a unique publication in the motorcycle world these days - all full-color glossy pages with amazing photography and engaging articles.  Based in North Carolina, they're a family business, putting out a top-quality product that I've been enjoying for about as long as I can remember!

Check them out on the web at the following link:  https://www.roadrunner.travel/

Three Wheels North: Home Stretch

 

Peeking out from my motel room in Broadus, MT, it looked like another nice morning.  I was in no hurry, however, as I only had about 150 miles to go.  Ural looked poised and ready.  He understood nothing about what I'd gone through in the Canadian Rockies two days before, though he'd stuck with me through it all.

I feel bad for him, really.  I know that sounds silly.  For nearly four years, Ural has done for me what he was designed to do.  But what I want (what I need to do what I want) is above and beyond his capabilities.  It's not his fault.

I still hit the road by 7:00, and within two hours was in that little triangle of Wyoming, created by the crossing of Highway 212.  A storm was on the horizon, and I wondered whether I'd have to go through it.  This could get exciting before it's over!  I knew there wasn't any shelter to speak of before Belle Fourche, SD.

I had no need to stop here, except to take what I figured would be the last photos of the trip.  Oh, I guess I might have taken off my sunglasses.  I'd neglected to do that once as I approached a monster thunderhead in New Mexico.  It had made a harrowing few minutes even more so!

Circling the bike, I noticed the little Canadian flag pin on my saddlebag.  There are actually two - U.S. on the left, Canada on the right.  They've been there since our south to north crossing of Idaho, the year that was supposed to be Ural's first attempt at the Arctic - the year when COVID changed all our plans.  Dan and I made it to the border, could see the maple leaf flying from its pole, but could not enter.  We'd known that would be the case, so we weren't surprised.  But I'd vowed to return!

At least Ural and I had finally traveled through Canada - if not nearly as far north as planned.  Quite an accomplishment, really - for a motorcycle with mostly 1940's technology, and a rider with a misguided or outright rebellious immune system.

Making it to Tuktoyaktuk and back would have required at least one tire change, one oil change, and 1,100 miles of rough gravel riding - that wouldn't even begin for another 1,700 miles after the point I turned around.  Of course, that doesn't include any required flat repairs or other issues.  

Yes, I had the necessary tools, equipment, and experience for all that.  But it may have been that experience that did me in.  I knew all too well how difficult those things are on this machine, especially with the additional challenges that MS has brought.  I had barely been able to do the pre-trip maintenance in the comfort of my garage, working only short stints at a time.  The Arctic looks much like the photo above - except the road can be pure mud.  And the mosquitoes can be big as dragonflies.  There are very few garages on the tundra - likely, no shelter of any kind.

To put it embarrassingly bluntly, I had turned around in the Canadian Rockies for one simple reason - I was afraid.  I feared what might happen there - and what I knew lay ahead, if I continued.  There you have it - the answer to the question, "What exactly went wrong?"

I pulled into my garage at 10:30, with around 150 miles on the trip-meter for the day.  I had gotten a bit wet in Wyoming, but only a little.  By the time I'd left the gas station in Belle Fourche, SD, the clouds had parted - and the headwind had kicked up!  There's always a headwind coming into Rapid City, it seems.

If you've read my book, North to Wrigley, you may recognize the silver box on the top shelf in the upper right corner of this photo.  Yes, it's my "unibox" - from twelve years ago!  It hasn't borne motorcycle luggage for at least ten now, but I just can't throw it out.  

Come to think of it, it might fit perfectly on the back of a Can-Am Ryker Rally - a three-wheeler of a different sort.  I'm putting a deposit down on one tomorrow - a month after this photo was taken.  I sold the Ural, an excruciating decision - as the death of a dream always is.  But it just may be that having a dream is more important than fulfilling one.  So I'm looking toward the future again.  I don't yet know if a Ryker is Tuk material or not, but by this time next year - I just might!

Three Wheels North: No Room at the Inns

 

My departure from Milk River, Alberta, was a trip record - 0630.  Not bad at all.  I was really looking forward to this day.  After a bit of Interstate 15, I'd follow mostly new-to-me backroads through Montana all the way to Billings, or wherever I felt like stopping.  Getting home to Rapid City, SD, should be a fairly easy two days from here.

Of course, I had to cross back into the U.S. first at the Port of Coutts/Sweetgrass, but I wasn't anticipating much trouble.

Just like entering Canada a couple days before, there was only one vehicle ahead of me!  In the developing world, they really frown on taking photos at international borders.  I suppose they don't care as much in Canada, but I did it on the sly (from the hip) anyway.  On the plus side, I unintentionally got a great shot of the right end of my custom cross-bar pad, showing my initials and the cool little pewter globe pin.  Thanks again, Rich!

The Ural is exceptionally good at a couple of things - and deserted backroads is one of them!  It helped that the surface was so nice, and that I'd never been there before.  I finally had one of those moments where everything was just perfect!  It was the first time this trip.  

If I just could have made it past the parks - out of the crowds...  But I tried not to go there yet.  I was having fun for a change!  There'd be plenty of time for more post-incident analysis later.  I was actually anxious to get moving again.  I remember that feeling!

And it lasted all the way to the small town of Roundup.  It was mid afternoon by then, hot, and I was thinking I'd quit early.  Unfortunately, everyone else traveling through that day had the same thought - or they had reservations.  I went to all three motels in town, and they were all full!  One of them is across the street behind me.  I  hid out in the shade of an enormous tree until I'd come up with a Plan B.

Plan B had been to keep going to Billings.  I did not want to camp again.  Maybe on the outskirts of the city, there'd be a national chain that would still have a vacancy.  I did not want to stay in the center.

But the center is where I stopped to get gas - and sit on this curb in the shade.  There had been nothing to the north, and I'd come in from the south on Day One of this trip, so I knew there was nothing there.

Did I mention it was HOT?

This is Plan C - the only motel in Ashland, MT.  The highway sign out front said NO VACANCY, but I had to check.  There had been an even more troubling sign coming in - 96 Degrees!

I was now on one of the primary routes west from the Rapid area, so I'd passed through Ashland a few times before in the 14 months since we moved to South Dakota.  It's a quaint little town that I've wanted to spend some time exploring.  Hopefully, this would provide that time. 

Guess not.  The office was locked, and there was yet another NO VACANCY sign on the door - my fourth rejection of the afternoon!

As I weighed my dwindling options for Plan D, I scanned the area, and look what I found!  It was a beacon of hope in a hot and weary world - a Mtn Dew machine!  There was little chance (so late in the day) of any remaining product inside, but again - I had to try...

And that is when my fortunes finally began to improve!  As I drank my ice cold beverage under the shaded overhang of the vacant motel (that was somehow fully booked), I decided to continue on to Broadus.  Forty-five miles farther east on Highway 212, it's no bigger than Ashland, but I knew it had another motel - and a campground.  If I couldn't get a bed there, I'd give up and set up the tent.  It was already 7:00, and I didn't want to ride at night - lots of large four-legged wildlife in these parts.

Pulling up to the Broadus Motel an hour later, I immediately noticed that only the word VACANCY was lit!  There was also an OPEN sign hanging on the glass door.  I may have arrived!

There, see what I mean?  It was even old-school neon.  I liked that.  As I climbed the stairs to the porch, I got a strong feeling that I'd been there before.

When I stepped into the office, I knew for sure.  It was 2017.  I was on my first KTM.  I'd been heading east from our home in Oregon to rack up the last nine states I needed - to have ridden a motorcycle in all 50!  While not all on the same trip, it had all been on the same bike - except for Hawaii, where I'd rented one.  Funny, it feels like it's been much longer than six years.  A lot has happened since then.

Anyway, back to 2023, I began to worry when no one was around.  I rang the bell on the desk though, and I wasn't alone for long.

My room was across the parking lot on the first floor.  OK, it was a bit sketch.  But there were a couple of other decent vehicles out front.  That always makes me feel somewhat better.  Don't know if it should.  Last time, this unit had been booked up, so I was sent to a sister property down the street.  I remember it was only one story but similarly maintained.

When I walked in - I immediately walked out.  The bed looked like someone had just gotten out of it and hurriedly tossed the covers back towards the ruffled pillows.  I assumed there'd been a mistake - that I'd been given a room that hadn't been cleaned yet.  The old guy who checked me in was on the porch, so I called him over.  "No, I just made that bed this morning," he assured me.  "The sheets are a little wrinkled, that's all."  "Well, if that's what it looked like when you left - and you're sure no one else has been in here since."  I studied his face for any signs he might be lying.  "I'm okay with wrinkles," I relented.  

And I was.  If it had been before 8:00 pm, and I hadn't ridden 530 miles that day - and there was any other option...  Things likely would have gone differently.  For some reason, I trusted him.  We ended up chatting quite a bit, actually.  An interesting chap with a British accent, he was.  Told me the pizza place across the junction might still be open if I went now.  So I did.

Seabeck Pizza & Subs was behind the bowling alley.  I guess pizza is the thing to have in rural Montana.  It's what I'd had my first night out, if you recall.

Wanted to get a little closer shot of that sign, in case you missed it.  Under the name of the establishment is the compelling slogan, "You have to eat something.  EAT THIS!"  Very appropriate for the only eatery in town.

 For something different, I ordered a meatball sub.  Unlike the place in White Sulphur Springs, the A/C was working very well!  But it wasn't bad outside now, so when my order came, I took it to a patio table and settled down.

Wow.  It was amazing!  Best meatball sub I've ever had.  I stopped at half though, packaging up the rest for brunch the next day.  Didn't want to push my gastrointestinal luck.  As I finished, the woman who appeared to be in charge came out, and I thanked her profusely.  I think they'd been closing up when I arrived.

It was getting dark as I walked back to the motel.  It's the two shadowy buildings on the corner.  I fiddled around with the bike some more to the sound of booming pyrotechnics.  It was the Fourth of July, after all.  

The first rocket burst right overhead as I was heading for my room.  Turning back, I stood and watched as several more impressive rounds exploded in full view from the parking lot!  The proprietor came out too, and we enjoyed the show together.  He didn't know who was shooting them off - was just as surprised as I was.  But it could not have been better, if we were doing it ourselves.  

Perhaps Roundup, or Billings, or Ashland would have been good places to stay as well, but it was hard to imagine a more fitting final night on the road, or a more appropriate place to celebrate our nation's founding.  Tiny, one-stop-light Broadus, with all its rough edges and friendly accommodating folks - was my kind of town.

Happy belated Independence Day!

  

Three Wheels North: About Face

 

I departed my campsite at the Fort Steele Resort at 0700 hours.  As I idled up to the highway, I still had not decided which way to turn.  All my long bike trips begin with a fair amount of doubt.  Is the machine ready?  Have I packed the right gear?  Will the weather cooperate?  Will the roads be passable?  Will my skill and awareness be up to the task of making it X,000 miles without an accident?  As I've stated before, it's a wonder I ever leave the house!

On every previous trip for the last 30+ years (except two), the doubts have faded as the miles piled up.  Those two times were the previous two times I tried to make it to Tuktoyaktuk.  Like the unseen forces at work in the Bermuda Triangle, a giant invisible bungee cord is tied to the rear axle.  The farther I ride, the harder it pulls back!  Can I snap it this time?  Can I break free and finally make it to Tuk?

It was a beautiful morning.  The Ural was running great.  I felt great.  But I still turned left, south - towards home.  I suppose I'll never fully understand why.

I made it 20 miles - to the sideroad the bike is parked on in the photo above.  

What am I doing?  What's wrong with me?  I've spent months prepping for this trip - years, really.  As I stood there, frozen beside the road, another Ural went by - heading NORTH!

That's very unusual.  In nearly four years of Ural ownership, I've maybe seen three others on the road.  I hopped back aboard and took off after him.  If I could catch him, perhaps we could ride together for a while.  Even if he wasn't going as far north as I'd planned, some time together might help me break that cord!

As my old-school steed slowly gained momentum, I knew I'd never catch up.  But if he'd noticed me, surely he'd pull over and stop - might even turn around.  I know I would!

But he didn't.  

A few miles later, I turned into this rest area to use the "facilities" and to give myself longer to try and sort things out.

I hadn't had breakfast back at camp.  "There was your first mistake!" my Seattle friend would certainly point out.  But I had picked some up along the way.  I had a feeling my angst was not something that would be cured by a Mtn Dew and a blueberry muffin, but it was worth a try.  It was a new Dew flavor, after all - raspberry lemonade!

To make a long painful story a little shorter (but in truth, no less painful), my power breakfast didn't work.

OK, I'll fill in a few more details.  But I warn you, it's pitiful.  Coming out of the rest area, I turned south - again.  But this time, I only made it a mile before doing a U-turn and heading north!  Maybe the Dew did have an effect, but it was delayed - and temporary.

I continued north, past the campground where my ill-fated day had begun - an hour and a half earlier.  I was still feeling fairly positive when I stopped for gas in Radium Hot Springs - another hour and a half after that.  But in Banff National Park, amongst some of the most spectacular mountains in the world, the bungee was stretched so tight that the Ural could hardly move.  It didn't help that the road climbed relentlessly as the steady traffic flew around me.  If I could push just a little more, it would surely break and I'd be free!  But the thought of getting any farther from home, of increasing the risk of roadside repairs in the now hot sun - I just couldn't do it.

At the junction with Highway 1 (near Lake Louise), the bungee cord finally snatched back, and I was hurtled with steadily increasing velocity towards South Dakota.  In more literal terms, I took a turn to the east and immediately began descending out of the mountains towards Calgary, Alberta.  There would be no more turnarounds.

As soon as I got up to speed, I noticed that the spare wheel was rocking back and forth on its mount on top of the sidecar!  I pulled over at this scenic viewpoint to tighten the giant nut that holds it in place.  I then realized I hadn't taken any pictures of the scenery before that.  That's how out-of-the-moment I'd been.  I hadn't really been enjoying the ride at all.

This is not a very good shot - what with the bushes sticking up behind the bike and all.  But these two, from the same parking area, are the only ones I have of the mountains for the entire trip.  Would be even more of a shame not to show it.  And it truly was a beautiful day!

"What exactly went wrong?" you're probably asking.  Me too!  And we'll delve into that a bit more later.

I passed by Banff and an hour later began skirting around the southwest edge of Calgary, AB.  Traffic had been horrible from the moment I entered the park.  It was Canada Day.  Yes, I knew I'd be north of the border for our neighbor's version of Independence Day (but without the war - or the independence), but I'd done that before and it wasn't too bad.  Guess back then I hadn't been riding between one of the country's largest cities and one of its most popular national parks!  Lesson learned.  I hope.

South of the city things improved dramatically.  I cruised through Lethbridge and headed for the U.S. border at Coutts.  I didn't know what to expect there, so when I saw a nice-looking motel in Milk River, only 20 km north of Montana, I decided to check it out.  The exchange rate was quite favorable, so I could likely get a better lodging deal here - and I was ready to park it for the night!

The scenery was exactly what you'd expect in the northern plains - and had been since leaving the Rockies.  I'd never been through this part of Alberta before, but it turns out, I hadn't been missing much.

My room, on the other hand, was even better on the inside than it was on the out!  Everything was modern, spotless, and very comfortable.  And I had a door to the parking lot, as well as one to the interior hallway.  This was going to be the perfect place to begin my physical and emotional recovery process.

As most Canadian roadside inns do, this one had an equally clean and tidy (though characterless) restaurant attached.  The gentleman down there was bicycling cross-country, and he and I were the only diners when I first sat down.  By no fault of his own, he did not help my feelings of inadequacy!

The view from my table was of the car wash and auto repair shop across the street.  No matter.  I was cool and comfortable - and was about to have a hot meal, and then a hot shower!  Maybe if I only rode in the mornings and gave up camping, I could still succeed at these uber-long journeys I used to enjoy so much - and be so good at.  But that would take twice as long (a month for this one) and be twice as expensive.  One of the last things I told my wife before I left the house was, "I wish it wasn't so far."  

I'd gone way over my target maximum miles per day - 480 miles.  That didn't help.  But with the four-lane around Banff and Calgary, I'd still gotten my room key about 12 hours after breaking camp.  Not bad.  I should be home in a day and a half.  Before willingly accepting the Ural's limitations, and somewhat less willingly, the growing limitations of Multiple Sclerosis, I likely would have made it home from here in a single 650ish-mile day.  But that wasn't going to happen.  And I was alright with that.

Everything starts to look better when there's a hot plate of food in front of you!  The beef was a little tough, but the bun was perfect - and the fries were amazing.  When I settled my bill, I gave the waiter a nice tip and an apology that he had to work on the holiday.  "I like working on Canada Day," he confided.  "I always have."  Well, it wasn't too crowded.  There's that.

Back in my room, I gave Kim a call on the bedside phone.  Those have all but disappeared in the States but are still common in the north - where cell service is not.  It was a largely positive conversation, despite my disappointing news.  It would be good to be home.  It always is.