Yellowstone

I was up at about 7.30am for the run across to West Yellowstone. The gate was thankfully virtually traffic free as I drew up and showed my pass and ID. It was a joy to ride on the clear road in the cool, clear morning air. The road twisted and turned through the dead pine trees which lent a rather sombre atmosphere to my otherwise joyous first ride into the park. My journey of about 70 miles took me past Yellowstone Lake from where I had the choice of either dropping a little south to West Thumb  and then up past Old Faithful to Madison or alternatively I could swing north almost up to Canyon and then west via Norris Junction to Madison. The distances were roughly equal and I chose the later. 

It was a beautiful ride though woodland and pasture, with buffalo and deer grazing in the early morning sun, the odd RV and car, birdwatchers and hikers all making the most of the day. My plan was to pop out to Kelly’s Lodge to meet up with Valerie and Alan for a coffee and a chat, then hightail it back into the park… well like I said that was the plan! I hadn’t reckoned however on just how popular Yellowstone was or the length of the traffic queues that build up so very quickly in the mornings. One look at the four lanes of traffic stretching right back to the traffic lights in West Yellowstone itself was enough to convince me that I needed to reconsider that plan.

I found Kelly’s Lodge easily enough, as West Yellowstone is a very small town, seemingly surviving on just the passing tourist trade to the park; it’s about 8 blocks by 6 blocks in the familiar square grid pattern which makes it almost impossible to get lost. Of course my friends had already left for places unknown but the lovely young Hedi behind reception was kind enough to let me make use of the hotel’s free WiFi service and even let me help myself to a couple of rather large cups of their very nice coffee whilst I did what one does on a trip when you find WiFi. Check emails and bank accounts, Skype home, and of course update my blog. All the while I was hoping that Valerie and Alan would come walking back in, but alas it was not to be so eventually I too went for a wander. By now I had made up my mind that it was pointless queuing for hours to get into the park and then to be crawling along in heavy traffic. With this in mind I headed out of town to look for an early camp site pitch; reasoning that with the number of people going in to the park the sites would once more be very full later in the day. As I headed west on Hwy 20 I spotted a KOA site, not one of my favourites by any means but thought it might do for the night. Enquiring at reception I was quoted $48 for a tent pitch without electricity, my comment that I only wanted to rent it, not buy it didn’t go down too well, so I voted with my feet and headed on a littler further. Spotting a sign to the right for a forestry site I turned and headed down a road that sort of just ran out of tarmac then took another right down to the shores of a rather nice lake and campsite. I was lucky as even at that early hour there was only one quite small free pitch and it was right down by the water side; perfect!  I did finally catch up with my friends later in the day and even joined them at a rodeo which just happened to be taking place at the end of the road to my camp. So all in all, even though I didn’t see too much of Yellowstone it was a good day and a good enough introduction to the park to make me book in for three nights at the camp to give me enough time to see it all properly… but on my terms.

4.30am and I was up and having breakfast even before the sunrise. By 5.30am I was at the gates to the park with just one other vehicle; that’s the way I like it. The run from the entrance to Madison junction is around 10miles, mainly through quite dense forest. From Madison I turned south towards Old Faithful, past Firehole lake, Artists Paintpots and Lower Geyser Basin at each of which I stopped to gaze in awe and wonder at the mystical geothermal landscapes. Yellowstone is pretty much unique as there are only a couple of other spots in the world where such activity can be witnessed but none are on the scale of Yellowstone. Riding into the park in the cool morning air emphasises the effect as the hot steam issues from nooks and crannies and even from the very grass itself at every twist and turn of the road.  I rode on to Old Faithful, probably the most well known of all the Yellowstone features. The car parks were just about empty as were the rows of seat opposite the Geyser.. and of course I’d just missed it’s eruption by just a few minutes so had another 92 minutes to wait. I walked around the boardwalk which winds through the geyser field and spotted one which I had been told was also pretty spectacular although irregular so I got out my camera and waited, and waited, and waited; eventually getting into conversation with a family which helped to pass the time until the next

Old Faithful in it's full glory 

Old Faithful eruption. It was certainly worth the wait. With a slight gurgle and an increase in the volume of steam coming from the hole in the ground it just suddenly lets forth with a gigantic plume of hot water reaching fantastic heights. It settles as if to regain it’s strength and then fires another volley of steam and water high into the cool morning air! Majestic, awesome, incredible, no mere words can do justice to such a spectacle, it just has to been witnessed first hand, As Old Faithful settled back for it’s ninety two minutes of slumber I headed back to the car park to find my bike; easier said than done as by now the previously empty car parks were almost full to capacity and it was still only 9.30am. Arriving at the bike I was a little concerned to find that one zip on my tank bag was open and the contents of the pocket strew around on the floor. As I looked at the mess I rested my hand on the back box… right into an even nastier mess! I had discovered the perpetrator of the crime; it was a Raven and witnessed by the receptionist at the adjacent Lodge.

I took a gentle ride back through the park but it was getting far to busy for my liking so I headed back to West Yellowstone for a walk around the town and a visit to the fascinating museum which houses many artefacts from both the park and the general area. Then back to camp where I had been invited to join my neighbour, John and his family for supper. John was a Vietnam Veteran, one of many I was to meet in the US. He had suffered for many years from PTSD, something he blamed for his three failed marriages and multitude of children ranging right down to the 6 and 7 year old offspring of his current relationship with who he was travelling… I spent a pleasant evening chatting with him and his young wife, who I would guess was about 40 years his junior, but I was planning another early start for the following morning to try to see the northern section of the Park so I made my excuses and headed off to bed fairly early.

Lying in my tent I had a think about just what to do the following day. As I was heading north it seemed a bit of a waste to head right back down to West Yellowstone. I had also met another biker in the park, Weston, and during our conversation I had mentioned that I hoped to go horse riding at some point during my trip. He had told me that his girlfriend, Becca, worked at a riding establishment at Jardine, which was just a few miles (5 it turned out)  from Gardiner and the  North gate to Yellowstone. I decided to do my 4.30 start once more but this time to pack my kit and once I had done with the park, to head out to Jardine and the Specimen Creek Outfitters for a little horse riding. But before that I still had a few gems of Yellowstone to visit including the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone and Yellowstone Falls.

 Even with my packing, I was still at the gate by 6am and once again the effort of getting up so early was well rewarded with almost empty road and the surreal experience of watching the steam rising from otherwise normal looking pastureland everywhere you looked. The Canyon and Falls didn’t disappoint either and I eat my lunch sat on a rock right on the rim of the Canyon. OK, it’s not as big as THE Grand Canyon but it’s pretty impressive just the same. I rode up to Mammoth Springs but didn’t pause too long due to the crush of Yellowstone traffic moved faster into the park by bypassing the town. It remains to be seen just what effect this will , have on the little towns economy which a bit like West Yellowstone seems to survive almost entirely on the park traffic and visitors.

cars, RVs and people all vying for space in the little town. Gardiner and Jardine were beckoning. Riding out of the North Gate put you right in the middle of Gardiner, which was in a bit of a mess when I got there due to extensive road works being carried out so that the

I easily found the road to Jardine and I had already spotted on the maps that there were a couple of camp sites shown on the road between it and Gardiner. What Weston hadn’t told me was that other than the first half mile, it was a dirt road all the way up to Specimen Creek Outfitters. Not really a problem other than the fact that I was carrying way too kit on my bike which made riding the dirt roads a little “interesting”. However I made it up to the ranch, found Becca and arranged a two hour ride for 11am the following day. It was then back down to an almost empty Eagle Creek camp site where I found a really nice pitch right at the top, and booked in with Robert the host, for two nights. Not least, I though I might just be a little sore after two hours on horse back the following day so a restful afternoon seemed like a good plan.

Gardiner

Ride to the roof of the World!

Red Lodge, Harleys by the score

 I approached Red Lodge in company with a KTM Adventurer being ridden two up, at which point we hit yet another set of road works with a diversion around the main approach to the town. I followed the diversion until the signs ran out, hesitated and then made a right turn. The KTM followed. I was hoping that he wasn't following me thinking I knew the way, as I hadn't a clue! However we both made it to the town centre with the KTM swinging around to park amidst a long line of Harleys. Whilst it seemed a rather nice littler town, time was pushing on and I still had to find a camp site, hopefully before Bear Tooth Pass, as I wanted to take time to savour the ride across in the early morning. One thing I really didn’t want to do was to camp somewhere near the top… 11,000 ft is just a little to high for my liking; at any time of the year. As it turned out I didn't have to ride very far at all as I spotted the by now familiar sign for a  Forestry Basic Camp site, in fact several of them all off along one turning to the right of the main road. The first was predictably full of huge RVs so I rode on a way, finding that the surfaced road soon ended giving way to a dirt road, with a sign warning that it was only suitable for vehicles with high ground clearance; just my cup of tea. It really wasn't that bad, just a bit pot holey; far worst with 4 (or more) wheels than for two. A little way up, yes it was also climbing quite steeply, I came across a hippy bus and was asked to look out for a hippy encampment further up and if found to let them know that Durrant was down the track and for someone to go down to meet him. He didn't want to risk wrecking the bus on the rough road. To be brutally honest, I think he was several years too late for that thought! Although I did tell him that if I found them, I might join the them….I quite fancied the idea of a party!

 I passed a few more of the camp sites and kept going until all signs of campers disappeared; not that I'm anti-social; well perhaps, just a bit! I found a great place to camp in amongst the trees with easy access to the river which was just about 10ft away, for both fresh water supply and a good bath in the morning! I even had the choice of two fire rings and an adequate supply of firewood, what more could I ask? A nice steak to cook on the open fire would have been just perfect, but alas it was not to be. However it was still a very pleasant evening with the smoke from the fire keeping the mosis away… all except for a pesky kid camped with his family a couple of hundred yards away who spent the entire evening, until well after I went to bed, tearing up and down the road at stupid speeds. I unkindly kept hoping he would fall off, but alas it was not to be. By now I was of course deep in bear country so like a good camper I made sure all my food and cooking kit was packed away in my panniers before I turn in. I have no idea if Touratech Panniers are tested to be bear proof but it was the best I could do. I also parked the bike a little further than usual from my tent in which I had the best protection I could muster. There was of the obligatory Bear Spray, I have of course never used it but the principle is not rocket science, it’s really just a case of pointing it the right way and having the nerve to stand there as the bear charges…Gulp! I also had a torch to try to make sure that it was a bear that I was about to spray and not the camp Ranger. I had my very sharp axe, although I think that might just get Yogi a little more riled up! And finally I had my razor sharp knife, so that if all else failed I could simply slit my throat. See, I was very well prepared! In the event, as usual, I slept the sleep of the dead and probably wouldn't have awoken until I only had time for the last of these cunning plans…

It was a wonderful start to the following morning; not least I had survived the night and was still breathing, which is always good! I was up just as the sun peaked it's little head over the edge of the surrounding mountains, although it was a little while before it was high enough to catch my little camp site. I breakfasted on freshly cooked, homemade fluffy American pancakes with added Granola and Maple syrup, all washed down with a couple of cups of tea, magic! Tent all packed away, it was time to strip off and brave the icy waters for my first really good scrub for a couple of days, and boy did it feel good! Yes, it was indeed very icy, but the cold soon disappears and leaves a wonderful feeling of freshness. You can't beat a dip in a river or lake to start the day. I had wondered why it had got quite so cold during the evening once the sun had set… I was camped at 8500 ft, which I think is a new camping record for me, the previous being a mere 5800 ft in Bosnia a few years ago!

One of many cheeky little chipmunks at a view point 

I had to retrace my wheel tracks back to the main road to get back on the Bear Tooth Highway and then it was onwards and upwards, oh boy, and how! The road wasn’t as challenging as many I have ridden, not even close, being designed with the huge American RVs in mind, but the scenery excelled. Time after time I stopped to take photographs, each time better than the last. I could see from the range on mountains in front of which I camped, almost the exact spot where I had been. As I was on the road quite early as usual, even with all my stops, the road was fairly quite. Stopping at a view point lay-by for yet for photos, I was amazed to see dozens of little chipmunks running around all over the place. They were so tame that they were taking peanuts out of my fingers! And no, there were not any signs telling the tourists not to feed them as there always is in the parks.

As I pushed on ever higher, accompanied by a growing number of Harley Davidsons and the odd RV, the snow that I had seen from below suddenly appeared righ along side the road. However the temperature stayed remarkably warm dropping only to the low 20s. The peak is at about 10850ft, high enough that you could actually feel that the air was a bit thinner, especially when having stopped for yet another photo, I spotted a small peak a bit to the side of the road with a well worn footpath leading to it, and decided that I might get an

even better picture from the top. Dressed in full bike kit I set off. It wasn't long before I was wishing I had at least left my jacket with the bike; then I was wishing I’d taken along my asthma pump, a drink, a hat; oh hell, I just wished I hadn't bothered ! Anyway I made it there and back still breathing; just. All in all the ride was just stunning; everything I had been told to expect and more. Well worth the few miles extra it put on my run. From Bear Tooth I took a left turn onto the Chief Joseph Scenic Highway which led me eventually down to Cody;

Buffalo Bill or to give him his full name William Cody’s home town ( or one of them!) Whilst not as dramatic as the Bear Tooth, it well lived up to the “scenic” in it’s name as it meandered through forests and pasture land, with the river meandering in harmony along the way. Cody, was much, much bigger than I had imagined from my little map, and very busy, I guess I should have expected that as it is the eastern approach to Yellowstone, which was of course the very reason I was there.

Buffalo Bill's Cabin

A few miles from Cody I stopped at Pahaska for a few supplies.. it was just as well I only wanted a few as that was about all they had in the General Store come Gas station. However next door was a very large gift shop and even more interesting Buffalo Bill’s original Cabin / Hotel, one of a few he owned around the country it seems; and the icing on the cake was that it was free to walk around. There were quite a lot of artefacts from the era so all in all a worth while break even if a little lean on the supplies! With dinner in my panniers I rode on the last few miles to the East entrance to Yellowstone National Park full of anticipation… Ah well, I had to keep a lid on 

the anticipation for another few hours as having passed unhindered through the gates, thanks to my annual pass purchased a couple of weeks ago, I spotted a sign which indicated that every campsite that was open, was in fact full. No worries I had passed several on the way in, including one that I had ridden around with a view to staying but decided to push on to the park instead. Backtracking along the same road, I tried the first camp I came to, only to find that it was for “hard sided” vehicles only, due to the threat from Grizzlies! At the next two it was the same story, but I struck luck at the forth. A nice little site with a vacant pitch right next to the river. Thank you very much that will do for me and at just $7 for the night it was a bargain. Having set up camp I wandered over to say hello to my neighbours, “Hi”, I said, “Hi, I'm Dennis” only to  be told “No, I’m Dennis!”. Yes, I’d camped next to another Dennis and his wife Renne who having retired, were touring the USA for a year as they thought it was about time they found out what this vast country of theirs had to offer.

Sunrise at the Lodge Pole Forestry camp site at East Yellowstone

In fact I was not the sole resident of my little camping pitch. No, I kept getting invaded by rather too friendly ground hogs. Cute little things but there must have been thousands of them on the site, with holes everywhere. If I just sat still it wasn’t long before a little twitching nose popped out of a hole barely a couple of feet away from me. It was fascinating watching their antics and coming and goings. I’d been very careful not to pitch my tent over one of the holes as I was afraid they might have chewed right through the ground sheet!

I had received an email from my sister Diane saying that an old school friend of hers, who I know quite well was staying at West Yellowstone for the weekend and would be around on the Saturday morning, so looking at the map and GPS I discovered that they were only about 70 miles away from where I was camped and with the added bonus of being in more or less the direction I was going anyway. So first thing the following morning I quickly packed up and headed back to the park. The ride along the approach to the East Gate is every bit as scenic as the park itself, with tall red cliffs and mountains, rock pinnacles and pillars, and a road that winds through it all with the fast flowing, turbulent river never very far away. I must admit to being less than enthralled by the first part of my ride, with thousands upon thousands of lodge pine trees standing silent, ghostly and bare, with thousands more just left where they have died and fallen from the ravages of the Pine beetle. It was more akin to the aftermath of the apocalypse than the verdant scene one would expect to find in one of the USAs foremost national parks; it was not a good first impression!

Just a small section of Yellowstone ravaged by the Pine Beetle.

Oh well I nearly went to the sun!

I'm not sure how well you'll see it but the ol' girl just clocked 300,000 Km!

It felt good to be back in my little tent, all alone in the silent camp ground and I slept soundly. Whilst I had my knife, axe, torch and bear spray within easy reach in the tent. I don’t think I would have woken up if a grizzly had crawled in next to me and snuggled up!!! Whereas I have been waking up around 5am I didn’t even stir until nearly 7, but there was no rush and at an altitude of nearly 5000 ft there was a definite chill in the air. I made tea and breakfasted on granola and creamed rice, an unusual but tasy combination, and loaded up. Just as I swung my leg over the bike there was a flash of lightening followed immediately by a huge clap of thunder. The wind started to rise and the first few drops of rain hit me just as I past the entrance to the camp site. I debated turning back to shelter under the trees until it past but as I didn’t think it would be much I headed off. Mistake! Before I had got to the park entrance there was a full on storm blowing. I spotted a picnic area and hoped I’d find a bit of shelter. I was in luck as ther was a a fully roofed shelter into which I could even drive the bike, so we sat out the worst of the storm in comfort. Or at least I stood it out… every surface in the shelter was smothered in hairy caterpillars and whilst they weren’t in the least harmful I neither wanted to squash them or disturb them; after all it was there home not mine.

 It wasn’t too long before the rain abated and I made a run for it, although as I was heading higher up into the mountains to the Chief Mountain Border Crossing I suspected that the respite might not last for too long and I was right. In fact for most of the morning it rained on and off with the temperature which had been in the low thirties all week, struggled to make it into double digits. The border crossing into the USA was quick and simple, although it did have me a little worried when I was asked why I had crossed into and out of the US on the same day! I had completely forgotten my quick trip down to Porthill to collect some of the bike spares which Joel had ordered. However that was soon cleared up and it turned out that the border guard’s son actually worked at the Porthill crossing.

The mountains all around me were shrouded in clouds and mist, giving the scenery a surreal atmosphere. The road was almost empty other than  a long convoy of RV’s coming in the other direction at one point. I guess they feel safer in numbers even in the US. I arrived at Babb where I was to turn right and head for West Glacier and onto the Going to the Sun Highway; I kid you not, that is it’s proper name. But as I turned I spotted another right turn almost immediately signposted to Many Glacier Park. As I rounded the corner there was another sign stating that the road ended in 12 miles. Ok, so a 24 mile detour, it was worth a look, and once more it did not disappoint. After following the river for a few miles there was what appeared to be a relatively recent dam, or at least it had recently been renovated. This was holding back a huge lake in which the surrounding mountains were mirrored magically. There were a few tour groups in funny little busses, but as it was still quite early both in the day and in the season I could enjoy the peace, quiet and isolation of the place.

On the way back down I stopped by a waterfall for a brew and whilst sitting in quiet contemplation a lady and her father stopped for a chat. She took one look at the bike and burst into tears and gave me a big hug. Her son had also been in Afghanistan and he had been badly injured. Although he is now fully recovered, she understood and empathised. Yet another touching and very emotional moment travelling the US.  

A little while later I turned onto the Going to the Sun Road…. Only to find it closed! They were doing extensive road works and it will not reopen until the 19^th June, Friday, but even that could not be guaranteed. Damn and blast! I stopped at an historical Rangers cabin that I saw signposted just as I had made the turn, got out my maps, GPS and notes from Joel and spent a bit of time deliberating the options. There were three that came to mind. Firstly I could hold up in a camp site and hopefully also sit out the bad weather that had now returned with a vengeance. But as I’d been sitting around at Taz & Joel’s for over a week, that didn’t really appeal. Secondly, I could ride round to the other side, go to the top and back down the same way but that meant I’d only get to see half of it. So I took the third option and carried on straight through Glacier and south towards Yellowstone. I had to come back up this way fairly close to Glacier to get back to Creston, so I reasoned that I would Go to the Sun on my way back.

It rained on and off for most of the day, but by around 5pm the sun had come out, the temperature had climbed to about 24c and I was approaching Great Falls, Montana. Although not without having to negotiate several miles of road works on the US 89 which reminded me of Vietnam earlier in the year. Rather than do one side of the road at a time they had just chewed the whole lot up and sort of left the traffic to work its way through it. They did have an escort vehicle to keep speed down but that was the only concession to H&S. I’m really not doing too well on the wild camping on this part of the trip either. Montana is just so flat and for the most part treeless, there is simply nowhere to hide so once again I’m in a camp site surrounded by huge RVs. Although at least this one has a pleasant grassy area between some trees reserved just for tents, of which there are, with mine, three. A fellow biker who’s bike is by his tent, but no sign or site of him, and a young couple, who for some reason I can’t properly explain, give me to think I should make sure all my kit is safely locked away tonight!  Probably all in my mind, but I like to think that such feelings or awareness if you like, is what keeps me and my belongings safe on my silly trips! 

Today started well enough and just kept getting better; well apart from some thoughtless idiot who thought it a good idea to let his noisy 4x4 tick over for at least half an hour before getting in and driving off. Now if it was -40 perhaps he would have a point, but it most definitely was not! It really is amazing how thoughtless some people can be¬! In complete contrast, two cyclists arrived at around 10.30pm, set up camp right next to me and I was quite startled to find them there when I looked out to see who’s truck was making all the noise at about 5am. Oh well, it takes all sorts and even that couldn’t bring out Old Grumpy as I was still in a good mood after yesterdays pleasant ride.  I was continuing on US87 or the Lewis-Clarke Trail which I had joined at Great Falls, heading more or less south east via Lewiston to Red Lodge and the Bear Tooth Pass which I had heard so much about. From there I would enter Yellowstone National Park to spend a few days seeing the sights. So with all that in mind I was on a high, not least it was where I was supposed to have been heading when I had all the oil leak problems a week or so back and having paid $80 for my pass to all the parks it had looked as though I was going to miss out on one of the biggest and best..

I just liked this Historic Ranger's Barn with the contrast of the caulking!

There are many Historic Points marked along the road side as you drive through mystical America, giving lots of information about, well, history! It doesn’t make for fast progress but is a far more fun way to learn about the Wild West than I was ever taught in school. So every few miles I’d pull over and read the board or see some monument or other. Lewis & Clarke were two early explorers who opened up the region to settlers, Having had my interest sparked I think I’ll be doing a bit of reading about the early days out west when I get home. As well as more of the extremely long road works I managed to find another very lengthy off-road section shortly before Red Lodge and at one point though I might well be camping in the middle of nowhere when I get my front wheel well and truly stuck in a deep rut. Incredibly, I managed to keep the bike upright and slowly inched it forward until I finally lurched out at a rather odd angle and shot off! That warmed me up somewhat I can tell you.

I little way before Red Lodge I stopped for some supplies at a little supermarket in Absaroka, a neat and tidy little town which appears to be just about in the middle of nowhere. I spent quite a while in the store and one of the check-out ladies was really   helpful looking out things I couldn’t find. Eventually I walked back to my bike to find that someone had left a silver medallion on the seat! It was put there in such a way that it had to have been carefully placed to ensure I found it! I can only think that someone had been reading the inscription on the brass plaques. I can’t tell you how touched I was by such I simple gesture. In fact I returned to the shop and asked the woman that been helping to thank whoever it was for me if she managed to find who had left it. 

My first sighting of the Yellowstone River.

Mind That Bear !!!

Tuesday 17^th June.

That was a bit more like it! Having finished putting the bike together yesterday but being unable to start or test it as I was waiting for the silicon sealer on the oil filter cover to dry, I awoke early full on angst. 4.30am and I was already up and starting to get the rest of my kit put away. The intention was to run over to Creston after a quick cup of tea to fill up with fuel and to meet up with Jim in the Break-in-time Coffee shop; his usual breakfast haunt, to return the few tools that I had borrowed from him. In fact I also popped into the car wash to remove that last vestiges of the oil leak. That way I could see more easily if there was still any sort of problem and hopefully from whence it was coming.

The old girl ran superbly! With the valve clearances all adjusted, four new spark plugs and the Carburettors adjusted and balanced, it was like riding a new bike. Less rattles, and much smoother. However I had a bit of a fright as I emerged from the coffee shop with Jim… There was a little puddle under the engine. Dipping my finger into it and giving it a good sniff, it turned out to be petrol. I had just filled my tank to the brim at the gas station opposite the café and then parked on the side stand in the full heat of the morning sun. The expansion of 37 litres of petrol was just too much for the tiny air space left and some had ended up on the floor. Relief all round!  On the way back I  went over to see Jason the mechanic to say goodbye and let him see The Beast in it’s full glory, then back to base for a quick iced coffee, finish packing and by 10am I was on my way.

The first part of the days ride was to back track about 100 miles along the Crows Nest Highway, certainly not a hardship as the scenery along it is superb. I stopped once more at Crows Nest Lake as I had done on my way down and enjoyed a tasty “smokie” with sauerkraut and an ice cold Coke in company with another cruiser riding old biker. It was then on to Waterton Provincial Park,  my goal for the day, which sits on the borders of BC, Alberta and the USA. A few spots of rain hit me as I rode through Fernie, home to the world’s largest truck. I didn’t bother to stop as I had seen it when I was over last year. The rain wasn’t even enough to wet my glasses never mind kitting up in waterproofs and the sun didn’t stop shining for a single second. I turned of off Hwy 3 at Pinchers Creek to head south on 6 and I could see that I was soon to be heading into the mountains; there was just 50 km left to Waterton. As I ran through the town of Pinchers Creek I spotted a Wall Mart and took the opportunity to grab some food for dinner and breakfast then pushed on unsure of just what lie ahead.  

Waterton is a small Park and the admission fee of just $7 reflects this, although it is still well worth the visit as the scenery and the wild life are amazing. I had spotted my first brown bear within minutes of passing the entry gate and within the time it took me ride through just a couple of the roads I had seen two more bears including the bad boy pictured here, who sort of strolled across the road with a casual look back at me as if to say “I’m a bear OK? What’s all the fuss about”. As the day rolled slowly towards dusk, I eschewed the fully serviced camp site right on the edge of Waterton town with it’s array of cafes, restaurants and bars, for a far more remote site close to . I got a bit of a fright as I rounded a bend to see another bear crouched, almost sitting, right next the road. I hesitated for a split second before realising that it was a cut out sign, but being a photograph it was just a little too realistic for my liking. Arriving at the camp site which was the other side of a river which one crossed via a wooden planked bridge, I was surprised to find proper flush toilets and wash basins in the restrooms rather than the long drop earth closets that are more usual in these locations. The site was a delight with a huge number of fairly secluded pitches, each having it’s own “bear box” together with a picnic table and benches. Being mid week and out of peak season I had it pretty much to myself. Well, that is apart from the deer wandering around, the odd prairie dog and some enormous black birds, which I’m not sure whether they were overgrown crows or some other variety, but they kept trying to pinch my breakfast! At $21.50 it’s certainly not the cheapest camp I’ve used but certainly one of the nicest and most entertaining.

You sure find some strange sights by the road side out here1

Today I cross the border back into the USA and ride the “Going to the  Sun Highway” which I’m promised is a “must do” ride. Yet again, as is my way of travel, I have no idea at all as to where I will spend tonight, I may get all the way down to Yellowstone or I may not. I may of course end up somewhere completely different. All I do know is that it will have to be very good to beat Waterton Provincial Park. If time was on my side I would surely stay a few more days and hike some of the trails that cut through the forests and mountains and see lots more of the wildlife. But it’s not, so onwards and, certainly for this morning anyway, upwards, into the Rocky Mountains that now lie all around me!

On my way again.... Hopefully!

Jason from Full Throttle having just worked his magic with the Helicoil

Finally, the parts I have been waiting for have arrived and The Beast lives again! Jason from Full Throttle who lives and works just a couple of mile away from Taz & Joel’s place came over yesterday morning and installed the Helicoil in the crankcase for me. Not only had I never used one before but I didn’t have the correct size drill either. I then spent the afternoon reinstalling the cylinder and the rest of the bits. By which time the oil filter housing decided that it wanted to join in the fun and started to leak slightly once more. So that too now has a nice 2 nice new o rings and just to be sure, a thin lick of silicon gasket around the case. Hopefully the old girl will be incontinent no more…

All that remains now is to actually take it for a run this morning to check all is well. Then by lunchtime I will be heading off to Glacier and Yellowstone Parks for a few day whilst I wait for Jim to install his rebuilt gearbox and Taz & Joel to start their vacation time on the 29^th. It will also give everything a chance to settle in nicely so hopefully ensuring a trouble free run North to Alaska!  I must confess that whilst on the one hand I cant wait to be on the road once more, I will also be a little sad at leaving this fantastic spot and the wonderful company I have shared over the last week and a half.  However, in just under 2 weeks and I’ll be back!

The Waiting Game

Since arriving in Creston just over a week ago I seem to have spent most of my time either waiting for deliveries of parts for The Beast, which still haven’t materialised; dashing around the various automotive supplies in the vain hope that they may have an O ring of the correct size and gauge, or sleeping! Not to mention of course, eating,  the superb, healthy, nutritious and very tasty meals that Taz conjures up from ingredients the like of which I have never seen or heard!

Had I realised that getting the parts in North America would be so problematic I would have ordered straight away from Motorworks in the UK, who I am sure would have had me back on the road long, long ago. In fact, in the early hours of tomorrow (Monday) morning I will be putting in a call to them for a reserve set of the top end gaskets and seals that I'm struggling to get, on the off chance that the ones that were guaranteed for delivery last Friday, still don’t arrive tomorrow!

Yesterday, was particularly frustrating, as having found an O ring locally that I though might just do the job, I started reassembly at about 5.45am full of hope and enthusiasm. Only to have that hope dashed a couple of hours later, when, on starting the engine easily at first touch of the button, oil immediately started to seep from the barrel / crankcase joint. So there was nothing for it but to strip it all back down. The O ring had been just that little bit to fat and had split as it had tried to fit into the crankcase. In doing so the thread on the base of one of the cylinder studs had pulled so it needed a Helicoil, which of course, wasn’t available locally. The Creston supplier had just about every size except the one 10mm 1.5 pitch item that I needed. Borrowing Taz & Joels car it was a flying 120 mile round trip up to Cranbrook and back after the local motorcycle mechanic discovered a store there with the required part. Assuming (always dangerous!) that the O ring arrives in  tomorrows post, even if it’s quite late; and the bike mechanic manages to get the Helicoil fitted, I should be on the road Tuesday for a quick blast, before loading up and heading over for a short trip around Glacier and Yellowstone National parks just to make sure all is OK before the long haul that will ultimately see me back in Halfax, Nova Scotia.

However,I must say that after a fairly tough first 4 weeks in Canada and the USA, it’s been great to just be able to chill for a bit with some good friends, namely, Taz, Joel and Jim. To laugh, to eat and to drink without having to think about moving on the next morning, or where I was going to stay the next night. But there is a limit to just how chill one can be before the itchy feet start to drive one mad! Or in my case, madder!  Right now I just can’t wait to get back on the road…

This morning Joel suggested taking a short run out up to the Kootenay Pass with me riding Taz’s bike. I think with the issues that Jim and I are having at the last minute, he wanted to make sure their bikes were running well, and they are. Although they each have close to 100,000 Km’s on their little 250cc motors, thanks to the care with which Joel has looked after them, including frequent oil changes, they run like new! So here I sit, looking at the parts of my Beast all lined up ready for reassembly, whilst typing what I hope is going to be my last update before hitting the road. Although I can’t actually post it yet as the internet, on which Taz & Joel depend for their livelihood, has crashed this afternoon. Oh, the joys of country living! 

Well that was Part One!

Joel has a saying " Montana, where the skys are big, the women are scarce and the sheep are nervous. I didn't see many women, I didn't see any sheep, but this is certainly on of those big skys...

Mile after mile I pushed on down the Interstate, trying to close down the distance to Taz & Joel in Creston. What has happened to the 1000 mile days I used to regularly roll off, or at least 500 or 600ers. It seems neither I nor The Beast were up to it any more. The scenery was rather bland when compared to my early days up around Cape Breton and Cabot Trail. Every miles seemed hard won. As the wind picked up, hitting me at about 45 degrees, the ride became even harder, and unusually for me I was struggling to find my rhythm and settle down. Perhaps it was due to the niggle with the oil, perhaps I was just getting too old for these sorts of escapades!  I managed to grind out another meagre run of 260 miles before calling it a day at Medina, when I saw a campsite being signed from the Interstate. And what a strange campsite it was. Almost mirroring the previous night, the camp was set around the edge of the local playing field and right next to the school. It was however a nicely kept and laid out site with one very good shower, although again like the previous night the toilets were devoid of any sort of door or privacy….most odd! I guess that’s the way they do it in North Dakota!

It was still quite early when I turned in for the night. The weather had closed in and we had just a few spots of rain. I made sure everything was put away securely and out of any possible heavier rain! It was just as well, as later, I was woken by an almighty storm; the full works, thunder, lightening, high winds and rain in monsoon proportions. Just the sort of weather I hate riding in but love when I’m tucked up snugly in my tent. The storm  had run it’s course well before morning and had cleared the air nicely, with the sky looking as though I was going to get a fine dry ride across North Dakota.

The Painted Canyon

The first part of North Dakota had been fairly flat and monotonous, but as I rode on further the landscape slowly changed to the rolling hills we are all so familiar with from the cowboy films. I spotted a visitor centre of to my right for Painted Canyon. So needing a break I pulled in. Not only was it a visitor centre but it was also a viewpoint for the beautifully coloured and weather shaped hills. Unlike the painted rocks in Morocco, it was also all natural! I collected a map and info sheet from one of the rangers for the Theodore Roosevelt National Park which was just up the road at Medora. It looked interesting and also had a basic campground so I thought I’d take a look. Stopping at the entry booth I was told the cost was $20 or I could have a pass which covered all the US National Parks for $80, no seniors discount unless you are a US resident!  As I was hoping to do both Yellowstone and Glacier on my way across I forked out my $80 and went merrily on my way.

The first and by far the most amusing of the wild life has to be the Prairie Dogs. The park is home to thousands of them; in fact you could almost say they have a plague of them, so numerous are they. But hell, they are cute! Sitting up on their hind legs, little noses sniffing the air, one moment they are perfectly still, the next they dive back into their holes to reappear seconds later with just their heads showing as they look around for any dangers… I passed the Cottonwood Campsite, thinking to head on for another I’d spotted on the map, about half way around the scenic loop. At a junction I stopped to check which direction when to my horror I looked down and saw oil just running from the front right hand side of the engine. Parking in a closed entrance to the forestry I got off and checked to see what was happening. The oil was all coming from the bottom of the oil filter housing. I checked the three bolts but all were tight. I had changed the filter prior to setting out and had also fitted a new O ring and shim in the housing. It appeared that this new O ring had failed. Fortunately I was carrying the old one which I had replaced in my spare parts pack.

Whoops! Oil everywhere!

I took off the soft bags from the tops of my panniers and piled them on the floor and then laid the bike over onto them. That way, I wouldn’t lose all the oil and should have enough to top up the engine. Whilst I had the cover off I though I might as well fit the new filter as well… in for a penny! It was an easy job but rather messy, leaving a nice pool of oil on the road. Then all that was required was a pair of helping hands to pick up the bike. To say it is rather heavy when fully loaded would at best be something of an understatement! I soon flagged down a passing 4x4 and hey presto, job done. As I was cleaning up all the tools and putting the seat and luggage back on, a rather nice convertible Mini Cooper S pulled up driven by a lady. A little unusual at generally the only people who stop for a biker in trouble are other bikers. In fact a huge RV had stopped earlier but he had a 500cc bike strapped to the back! Anyway it of course turned out that Sue was in fact a biker with a Suzuki SV650 and a 250cc trail bike back at home in California! We chatted for quite a while with her giving me some “must see” places to go and also leaving me with a couple of tourist maps which she had finished with. All that remained was to cover the oil with some soil and gravel from the road side and head back to Cottonwood Campsite with my tail between my legs!!!

Cottonwood was a basic but very pleasant site, surprisingly large, but as it was still early season, sparsely populated. I did however manage to upset the ranger by tying up my shower in a tree ( You cant do that sir, it’s against park regulations to tie anything to the trees ) and  also by parking my bike next to my tent ( You can’t do that sir, vehicles must stay on the gravel areas and m ust not be parked on the grass ). In fact there actually wasn’t much grass on my pitch other that the little bit my tent was on, as it was a little threadbare! Anyway I didn’t get chucked out.  Next morning I was up and away bright and early, hoping to see more of the wildlife as rode the rest of the loop through the park. I was a bit disappointed as other than the inevitable prairie dogs, the only notable event was the sighting of a single buffalo. He just laid in the grass about 50 yards from the road and nonchalantly watched as I took his photo. I had spotted a whole herd of the wonderful beasts the previous day, but that was from the Interstate and it was not easy to just pull over to take any photos.

Heading back into Medora, I stopped for breakfast at a little café whilst I decided on my next move. The bike was back to it’s relatively small oil leak, or so it seemed and I was only a short hop north of Mount Rushmore so was contemplating a small diversion. I left town, retracing my route to pick up the road south which would take me in an almost straight line to the monument, but it wasn’t long before the tell tale signs of the leaks were all over my right boot once more. Despondently, I turn at the next intersection and got back onto the road heading west to Creston. At first I stopped every 25 miles to check the oil, then every 50. Even though the patch on my boot and the mess on the side of the bike got worse, as long as I left the dip stick loose, I wasn’t actually losing much. It was still about 790 miles to Creston where I could relax and sort the problem out properly. It was quite stressful having to keep checking the oil level, never being sure whether my rear tyre was getting nicely coated in oil on the right hand side. Right corners were taken very gently, though there weren't that many corners in either direction.

By the time I reached Malta I’d done just 240 miles but it was about 5pm so I found what looked to be a nice camp site behind a motel and pulled in.   I was the only tent there on the designated camping area, with a few RVs in gravel pull through sites. Only after my tent was up did I find out that there was a railway line just the otherside of the hedge carrying the huge freight trains that I seen during the day. As they slowly lumbered through pulling immense lines of wagons, the noise was incredible and the ground shook beneath my feet. I feared that it was going to be a rather sleepless night. Thankfully I had my trusty ear plugs but even they were going to struggle to keep out that racket! In fact I slept surprisingly well. The stress of the last few days of living with and trying to manage the oil leak had taken their toll. A hearty cowboy dinner of beans, beef jerky and noodles washed down with a couple of beers saw me zedding happily right through to 5am. I had 550 miles left to ride to Creston and it was Thursday. I reasoned that if I could make it there in one day, I could get the parts on order on Friday and hopefully have the parts by Monday, Tuesday at the latest. So after a quick cup of tea and a pancake with Maple syrup I got back on the road determined to put in some decent mileage, always assuming that the bike held up…

Apart from the nagging doubts about the oil, it was a great ride. Quite a few photo stop, lunch in a Tim Horton’s, and lots of stunning scenery. The first photo stop was just a few miles from the camp. All along the road there are marked Historic Points, with large display boards explaining about some event or other in the US and Canada’s distant past. This one put a whole new perspective on the railway that ran next to my tent last night. It was the very same Rail Road that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid terrorised in the late 1800s. On July 3^rd 1901 the gang pulled of what’s described as a premature Independence Day celebration by blowing the safe on the Great Northern Railway’s No 3 Passenger train getting away with a bag of gold coins and $40,000 in unsigned and worthless banknotes; the inspiration for the scene from the film where the money is seen floating in the air after the explosion!

I spotted lots of grain silos along the road and I was reminded of the Nancy Griffiths song Trouble in the fields… “The trains roll by our silos silver in the rain, leave our pockets full of nothing but the seeds of the golden grain” This was the wheat prairies, stretching as far as you could see. The wheat was only just appearing from the soil but at one photo stop I was again quietly singing the same tune to myself “There’s a book upon the shelf about the dust bowl days; and there’s a little bit of you and little bit of me on the photos on every page” I had walked

across to a ruined wooden shack with an old farm implement next to it. The soil was indeed very soft and dusty in spite of the recent heavy rains that the area had suffered. It was very easy to imagine the scene in the hot summer sun, with the wind whipping up the dust into dense clouds and the crops just withering in the fields.

I crossed the US/Canada border with little fuss. The border guard was a little confused by the fact that I was riding a UK registered bike stating that he had never had to enter one before and didn’t know what code to put it under… He soon managed to look it up and once more I was on my way west! Eventually the Interstate gave way to Hwy 3 which runs all the way to Creston and on to Vancouver and the coast. The part I was on was known as the Crows Nest Pass Hwy and was spectacular. I remembered it from my January 2014 visit when I traversed it three times, twice on the Greyhound bus heading down from Calgary and back, and once in my rental 4x4. However, then it was completely covered in snow and looked very different; still beautiful, but just so very different. As I got to Cranbrook the weather turned again and I quickly changed gloves and slipped my waterproof coat on. It didn't last long and by the time I got across the pass and down to Crows Nest Lake the sun was shinning once more. Another photo stop, waterproof off, a rather nice smoked sausage hot dog and it was away for the final run in to Creston. I’d passed through yet another time zone so was running an hour earlier than I had expected. Joel had sent me through the coordinates of their new house in West Creston so finding them was not a problem. I pulled onto the drive at almost exactly 7pm, much to their amazement, as they hadn’t expected me until the weekend. I had made my 550 miles and still felt really alert and wide awake. It was so good to see Taz and Joel’s smiling faces again, and their new house was simply stunning. A log cabin set in 7 acres of woodland, with a separate building which was to be my home and workshop for the next few day. End of part one of my fantastic journey I guess!

Crows Nest Lake

Some days are Diamonds...

So what of my new perspective? Well it isn't really. Yes, I beat all the coaches and the majority of other tourists to the Falls, but for me it has been completely ruined by the mass development that been allowed to overshadow the attraction itself! I found the Cave of the Winds which I been told about, but of course I was too early and would have had to wait about an hour. That in itself I wouldn't have minded too much as I had all day to kill. Then I read on the notice that the Cave wasn't actually a cave at all and the “Hurricane” viewing platform, one of the main attractions of the Cave of the Winds, was closed for refurbishment! Which really didn't leave much to get excited about. Of course there was no mention of a reduction in the $38 entrance fee, so I passed. I wandered down to another viewing platform which was right on the edge of the falls at Goat Island, but even that, whilst giving a fairly spectacular view, was spoilt by the huge amount of rubbish tossed over the barrier to lay as a complete eyesore at the very edge of the falls. It would have taken one on the staff no more than half an hour to clean the place up. However when I spoke to a staff member about it I was told it was due to staff shortages. That, in spite of millions of Dollars being spent on a whole raft of refurbishments to try to extract even more of your hard earned Dollars, Pounds or Yen! By this time I’d had enough and decided it was time to vote with my feet and move on, even though I had booked to stay at the campsite for another night. So back to camp, a quick packing session and I was still away by a little after 10am and heading west, across country, towards the Windy City; Chicago.

It was still a long haul to do in a day, way too far with a relatively late start and in the event I stopped the night a bit over halfway at Sandusky. The ride had been quite tough along the US20 with a couple of diversions for road works, thrown in for good measure. Bearing in mind that only a few days ago it was snowing in the morning when I popped my head out of the tent, the weather had changed dramatically with a high of 42c being seen around the middle of the afternoon.  The camp site at Sandusky was huge, with a vast number of cabins to rent, but it had clearly seen better days!  There was apparently a bike rally in town over the weekend, so lots of Harleys and one lone Yamaha were also on the site, Of course most of the Harleys turned up either on trailers or in the back of huge RVs! I think just myself, the guy on the Yam and just one of the Harleys had been ridden to the site!  Guess who’d travelled furthest? I was grateful for the ear plugs I always carry when camping as the pitch I was on was right next to the Interstate and the traffic was heavy, right up to the point I fell asleep. It was a fretful nights sleep as I was feeling unusually homesick! And even a couple of rather nice, locally brewed Black & Tans did little to ease the feeling.

Saturday morning I set off with the firm intention of getting to Chicago and possibly a bit further. The ride was nothing to get very excited about as I stuck more or less to the Interstate in order to get in the miles. I approached almost along the waterfront though East Chicago. Street after street of run down and boarded up houses; derelict warehouses and factories, a road that was,  to say the least, in need of some urgent attention and a sky that looked rather ominous, did little lift my spirits. As the first spots of rain started to fall I pulled over and put on an extra waterproof jacket; a wise move as it wasn’t long before the heavens really opened. The wind also decided it wanted a piece of the action and blew ferociously…The traffic of course, even though it was Saturday afternoon was getting heavier by the minute. Rounding one four lane, right hand bend, it was as much as I could do to turn the bike and push it into the corner, so hard was the wind blowing at me! This was not fun!  From there, if you can believe it, things just got worse, much worse! The traffic was completely snarled up, I was not only struggling to keep the bike in anything like a straight line, the rain had also all but killed any semblance of a chance I had of seeing the Sat Nav screen to find which way I needed to go through the chaos. At that moment I just wanted to be home, sat in front of my little log fire with a nice glass of single malt in my hand…In fact at one point I remember screaming into my helmet  “I wanna go home!” Anyway, I survived and eventually cleared the city, travelling at about 5mph for several miles in 14 lanes of  bumper to bumper traffic. I kid you not! Ok, half of them were going in the other direction but let me just say; Fun it was not.

Soaked, frozen and thoroughly fed up, I suddenly spotted a motel right next to the road. That was it, no way was I going to pass that one up, to not only shiver the night away, but also to have to put on all my soggy kit next morning and to have to sleep with it all in the tent… Walking in to reception I pressed the bell and stood dripping all over the floor, Yes, he had a room and the price wasn’t too bad at $55, thank God! Although I think at that moment I’d have taken it at $200 such was my mental state! To the guys amazement I asked for the heating in my room to be put on and then turned it full on! A hot shower, a change of clothes and I felt almost human again. That had certainly been by far the worst day of the trip and to be honest I can’t think of many worse days…ever!

The motel wasn't bad, but there wasn't even tea or coffee in the room or any way to make it, short of going back out to the bike in the rain and risking burning the whole kit and caboodle down by firing up my little petrol stove in the room. Something which, even in my slightly deranged state of mind, I could see was not a good option. Watching some of the coming and goings through my window, I’m fairly convinced that once again I had ended up staying in the local “House of ill repute”! But they didn’t bother me, so live and let live I say! However my state of mind that night did not make for much sleep. In fact by 4am I was considering getting dressed and heading off. It was only the fact that it was still raining slightly that stopped me.

When the dawn finally broke it was as dull and gloomy as my mood! At that moment I would gladly have just jumped on a plane at Chicago airport and flown home… Not so easy however with half a ton of motorcycle as your hand luggage!!! A refrain from a John Denver song kept buzzing through my head; Some days are diamonds, some days are stone, Some time the heartaches won’t leave you alone” I pressed on. In view of my dislike of both Niagara and Chicago it was time for a drastic rethink of my plans. I decided to head straight across country to meet up with Taz, Joel and Jim in Creston, BC. But that was still 2700 miles away so in the meantime, I was just going to have to make the best of it. As the day got into its stride, the sky brightened, the temperature heightened and slowly but surely my mood lightened. I had made up my mind to run the Interstate for a couple of day and see how it went. Not the best way to see the USA, but to be brutally frank, I’d had enough of it for the moment and I was sick of my own company. Sometime travelling can be like that; it doesn't take too much to upset ones equilibrium or indeed to restore it! So Interstate 94 it was. Milwaukee, Madison and Minneapolis came and went. For the most part I didn't actually see much of them as I stayed on I94  

Finally I came to a halt for the day at Melrose. After only about 250 miles that had felt like 2500 , but I’d had enough! I’d been on the interstate all day, but somehow not made the distance I should have, largely due to many stops to check the oil level as I was losing quite a bit still. Although not as much as would appear from the mess on me and on the bike. A fine oil spray just gets everywhere and coats everything. It seems to be coming from the base of the right hand cylinder; I cursed myself for not having changed the O ring when I did the push rod tube seals shortly before leaving home… but then hindsight and all that!  It was a small camp ground next to a river and it seemed, mainly used by fishermen as there were a few in evidence as I set up my little tent. Once set up I wandered across to the nearest and enquired about grocery stores in town and car washes. I really did need to give the bike a good clean again to get rid of the oil!

I wandered into the small town to see what I could get for dinner, and hopefully a couple of cold beers. The former was fine, the later not so lucky!. I asked a guy ( a customer) in the supermarket where they kept the beers. He replied that this was Minnesota and the area was still dry on Sundays, so no chance. Oh well, not a big deal. I paid for my groceries and left. However, by the time I got back to my tent, the guy from the supermarket was waiting for with… yes, you guessed it, a couple of ice cold beers! He even apologised for the fact that it was only Bud! Yet another, small, but very gratefully received, Random Act of Kindness.

Mark's temporary home! at least there is good fishing

Later in the evening I got talking to the fisherman I’d asked for directions. Mark was actually living in his tent and literally fishing for his supper. Although working now, he had fallen on hard times and the tent was the only thing he could afford to live in at present. He worked at the local turkey processing plant, but the pay was low, and by the time he had paid alimony to his ex he hardly had enough to live on, However, yet again an example of those with the least still being quick to share what little they have… I had a couple of his cheap beers as we talked the evening away.  It seems that although the US does, like the UK, have a minimum wage structure in place, it is even lower than ours, and of course they don’t have anything like the generous welfare handout that the UK has.

Next morning Mark was up and away to work even before I awoke, so I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. However, I did pop down to the supermarket and feeling strangely, very guilty, was queuing up as the liquor store opened at 8am to buy a nice big pack of beers to leave Mark as a gesture of thanks. With that done, I packed and hit the road once more!. Back on the I94 heading west.