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!
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.
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."
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.
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.
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