3 June – 7 July 2012
Brian: The bike’s really loaded down now we have all the camping gear. I’ve strapped the sleeping bags, tent and cooker onto the panniers. It’s a bit cumbersome and the pillion seat is now a tight fit for Shirl. Packing the camping gear is a work in progress.
Shirley: It is a tight fit, but I can rest on the tent and nod off for a while. Unfortunately Brian can see me in the mirrors and knows I’m asleep. He can’t resist waking me up. It’s simple — he just yells, ‘Are you asleep?’ Instantly I’m awake.
Brian: The journey north continues, sticking to the coast. The sun is shining and the bike’s ticking along nicely. It doesn’t get much better for me.
The coastal weather is pretty variable. We head off in sunshine but by the time we get to Morro Bay the sea mist has rolled in and the iconic rock in the middle of the bay is nowhere to be seen.
Further up the coast the mist burns off and it’s glorious again. The local sea lions are lolling about on the beach, flicking sand onto themselves and burrowing down. It’s moulting season and the teenage and older seals aren’t looking their best with their peeling skins. Making the most of the interest in the sea lions are the squirrels, schmoozing up to the visitors, hoping to get some food. A girl with sunflower seeds wins plenty of hearts and has the squirrels eating out of her hand, literally.
From here we ride the magnificent Big Sur, very like our own Great Ocean Road but on steroids. It’s sunny and cool, perfect riding weather. The breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean wafts through the pine trees that line the road. The sun glistens on the ocean. We’ve driven this road in a car, but it’s made for motorcycles. Perfect.
We ride into Monterey and find a small hotel with a Japanese restaurant right next door. It serves the best sushi and sashimi we’ve had since Panama City. Excellent.
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I’ve always wanted to see Laguna Seca Raceway and luck into a car track day so we can get right inside and not have to look at an empty track from outside the fence. The cars are racing around the track. It’s not bikes, but it gives me a close look at the corkscrew, one of the most difficult corners in the Moto GP circuits around the world. We can walk right alongside the track and get a good look at the cars coming down. I could watch for hours, but I can feel Shirl’s boredom. I’d love to get the opportunity to come here for motorcycle racing. It’s another reason to come back.
We can’t ride Laguna Seca but we can ride the 17-Mile Drive. We’ve driven this road too and know it’ll be brilliant on the bike. It’s a private road that hugs the coast and passes mansions where money is clearly no object.
We pick up a map at the tourist office on Cannery Row. We’re carrying our helmets so it’s pretty obvious we’re on a motorcycle. The ride to the start of the 17-Mile Drive gives us a sneak preview of the amazing coastline that lies beyond the security gates.
The sign at the gate says it’ll cost us $9.50 to enter. That’s not a problem. I feel Shirl shifting around on the back of the bike getting her purse at the ready. Then the security guard comes out.
He’s an officious little man in a nice blue uniform with a star on the breast pocket. I get the feeling he’d like to be a policeman, but this uniform will have to do.
He steps out of his little guard box and puts up his hand. His message is simple — no motorcycles. What? He’s abrupt, to put it mildly. There’s no way he will change his mind. We’re not allowed in and that’s that. He finally says that it’s because someone rode a bike over some grass and that bikes are too noisy. What a crock. I’m furious to say the least. It’s bloody discrimination. Nearby a man is using a leaf blower. It’s making much more noise than our bike does, but we’re not allowed the pleasure of riding 17-Mile Drive.
Back at the tourist office the boss tells us that Pebble Beach Resort owns the road and can prevent anyone from coming in. They apologise.
They didn’t know there was a blanket ban on motorcycles.
The journalist in Shirl comes out. She’s so incensed she takes to the computer and writes a scathing review on Trip Advisor. She also pens a missive to Pebble Beach. Not surprisingly, they don’t respond.
Shirley: San Francisco — what a city. Our hotel’s in the Cow Hollow area. We love the houses, the bars, the restaurants. We ride the trolley cars, wander along Fisherman’s wharf, eat fabulous seafood and even take in a movie.
We love San Francisco and what better way to farewell the city than to ride down Lombard Street, the world’s most crooked street. It’s great fun riding down the steep street with its eight hairpin turns. I get the feeling the driver of the car in front of us is scared we’re going to end up in his boot. Poor Brian is being squashed against the tank bag because I can’t help but crawl all over his back and push him forward, the road’s so steep. It’s a little discomfort for massive fun.
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Our guardian angels must be looking after us. The Golden Gate Bridge is bathed in sunshine rather than shrouded in fog. Riding over we get great views of the San Francisco Bay as we head to Muir Woods. This is another national park and the pass we bought in Texas has already paid for itself. The majestic redwoods tower over us, making a serene place to walk for a while.
We ride through the Napa Valley heading to Point Arena on the coast. Again we’re blessed with great weather and wonderful roads. We stop for lunch and meet Herb and his wife, Mary. They’re in their 70s and rode their motorcycle until a few years ago when a car didn’t give way to them at an intersection. Herb wasn’t too badly injured, but Mary’s leg was badly shattered. While Herb tells Brian he wishes he could get another bike, Mary warns me to be careful. I understand what she’s getting at. We both know the risks of motorcycle riding but are prepared to take those risks for the joy we get from life on the road.
Back on the coast we find a hidden part of Highway 1. It’s cold and windy but nothing can take away from the beauty of the rugged coastline. Waves crash on the rocks and the wind whips up the white caps. It’s even more beautiful than the Big Sur up here.
We need a break from the road. Our cabin has a kitchen and I’m dumbfounded that I haven’t forgotten how to cook. Wonders will never cease.
The area is known as the lost coast. Many towns here were destroyed by the 1906 earthquake that devastated San Francisco, about 200 kilometres south of here — that’s one hell of an earthquake. Reading, resting and the odd ride along the coast recharges our batteries for the road ahead.
It won’t be long and we’ll be in the wilds of Canada and Alaska.
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Our fantastic, reliable little Canon camera has developed a scratch on the lens. Maybe taking pictures while we ride at 100 kph and faster hasn’t been such a good idea. It’s only just a year old but already been superseded. We can get a replacement through their loyalty program but need a US address and a US credit card. Clare and Bevan, the couple we met at the Overland Expo, are only too happy to help out. Carol’s back from Australia and she and Ken are with them now. They’ll wait until the camera arrives and we’ll catch them on the road.
Brian: We’re taking a little detour, so rather than heading north we turn back and head inland to Sacramento, a rather forgettable town. But the ride there’s spectacular, taking us through a wonderful redwood forest where the huge trees envelop us in a canopy of dappled sunlight. It’s another great day on the road.
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It’s already 34°C at 10 am so we high tail it to Yosemite National Park. As we climb into the park, trees dilute the sun and the altitude makes it cooler the higher we go. There are plenty of motorcycles and, unfortunately, more than a few annoying RVs. The speed limit is 65 kph because there are bears in them thar woods. Along the side of the road are yellow and red signs showing where bears have been hit and killed by passing cars.
There’s plenty of advice on what to do if you see a bear. Make yourself look bigger is one thing and if a bear attacks don’t fight back. Some people recommend you wear a bell so bears can hear you coming. Others insist you carry a can of bear spray, a pepper spray bears don’t like. We’ve been told the black bears are unlikely to attack a human, but a grizzly might. This leads to a joke doing the rounds. How do you tell black bear scat from grizzly bear scat? A grizzly bear’s scat smells of pepper spray and has bells in it!
Bears aren’t the only critters in Yosemite. There are also mountain lions and the advice for families enjoying hiking in the park is simple: don’t let your children run ahead or lag behind. Mountain lions go for the smaller of the pack. They also suggest you do fight back if a mountain lion attacks you. So many things to remember. Let’s just hope we don’t have a close encounter of the critter variety.
Lakes, streams, rocky outcrops and snow-capped peaks, Yosemite has them all. On the western side of the park the landscape gives way to enormous rock formations with waterfalls, created by the melting snow, cascading hundreds of feet. It’s truly spectacular.
Tonight we test our camping gear at the Wolf Creek campground. There’s a bear-proof locker for our food and toiletries. Apparently bears are particularly fond of minty toothpaste and can smell food, even when it’s still in the tin.
We get the tent set up in no time while a deer grazes just behind our campsite. I light the campfire and we sit on upturned logs and enjoy a glass of wine. Even Shirl has to agree this is better than a motel room. Our sleeping bags are toasty warm and the mats comfortable. This is living.
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The joy doesn’t last long when I notice that the rear final drive seal is leaking. This is the fifth time it’s sprung a leak since I bought the bike back in 2008, the first time on this trip. Bugger.
We’d like to stay another night but we really should get the seal replaced. Using the pay phone I ring BMW USA and they direct me to the nearest dealer in Fresno.
We head west out of Yosemite, past the rock formations and waterfalls we passed yesterday. The road’s good but the traffic is terrible and my patience is wearing thin. Eventually we get some clean air for a while and the bottom of the bike is scraping the bitumen around some great curves. On the flatter sections on the run towards Fresno, I see a motorcycle headlight coming up on us, fast, as we’re stuck behind some slow traffic. A pimped up Harley with a dickhead riding it in shorts, pudding basin helmet and runners — nothing else — screams past a line of traffic over double lines. What a loser. The temperature is up to 40°C but you still need to wear the right clothes.
We find the BMW dealer in Fresno but they’re shut on a Monday. Bugger. Using the free wifi in McDonalds we find a cheap hotel nearby and settle in for the night.
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The sales manager at BMW is very helpful and assures us they’ll be able to fit us in and replace the seal. As soon as I start talking to the service manager it’s clear he isn’t going to help us. It’s a job that takes about half an hour and he can’t fit us in for 2½ weeks.
The nearest BMW dealer is in Modesto, 125 kilometres away. Their service manager says he’s flat out but could probably fit the bike in tomorrow, so we book it in and hit the road.
One hundred and twenty five kilometres isn’t a long distance, but it’s a huge difference in the levels of service from the two BMW dealers. As soon as we hit Modesto we pop in to let them check out the bike. Rick, the service manager, explains some GS need a complete rebuild of the rear drive when the seal goes, but he doesn’t think that’s the case with us. Before he’ll do anything he’d like to know which part BMW Australia fitted when they last replaced it.
Rick speaks to Australia and they explain the part was replaced for free last time as an act of good will, even though the bike was out of warranty. Rick thinks they should replace this one too, but they decline.
In two hours the seal is replaced and Rick has contacted BMW US. They’ll cover the cost of replacing the seal even though it’s not one of their bikes. Thanks BMW US and thanks Rick from BMW Modesto.
So far we’ve visited BMW in Buenos Aires, Columbia, Panama, Austin and they’ve bent over backwards to help us out. BMW Fresno was the first not to. We’re surprised they were so unhelpful.
Shirley: I never thought I’d say this, but I was annoyed we couldn’t camp the second night in Yosemite, but we did have to get the bike fixed. Now we’re heading to Oregon to meet up with Ken and Carol for a motorcycle rally at a biker’s property in Westfir. Ken has our new camera.
We ride the Senora Pass, a summer-only road that takes us through towering forests and alongside a river. It seems like every road we take is made for bikers. Brian’s having a ball, especially when the pass narrows and the corners tighten up. He’s a happy man.
We’re in Pony Express country, riding through Silver City, Gold Hill, Carson City and Virginia City. They’re tourist towns, but we’re tourists so it’s a perfect match. Mark Twain was once the editor of the paper in Virginia City and today the bookshop and casino are named in his honour. One of the most unusual pieces of history in the town is the suicide table. It’s a card table that, legend has it, led to three suicides — two men who lost everything playing at the table and one man who owned the table and lost everything when a lucky miner hit a winning streak. It’s probably only a legend, but it’s a good one.
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Ken and Carol are 160 kilometres south of us so we wait for them at Klamath Falls and ride to Westfir together. It’s great to see them again. Even though we love being on our own, it’s great to have travelling companions a part of the way.
The weather’s lousy. White fluffy clouds have turned grey and threatening. We don’t get very far before we stop to put on our wets. It rains for the entire three hours of our ride to Westfir. Camping’s fine in good weather but not on days like this. The four of us are in agreement — we’ll sook it and stay in town in the motel rather than camp at the rally site.
It would have been great to camp, but it’s wet, wet, wet. My pants are no longer water resistant. Brian’s pants leak. The tank bag is absorbing water and everything inside is wet. My pannier leaks, and even though I have plastic inside my clothes are wet. The only thing that doesn’t leak is our Andy Strapz bag on the back. It has our sleeping bags and they’re dry.
Most of the people at the rally are locals. The star turn is Tiffany Coates, a vivacious and gutsy young Brit who’s travelled just about everywhere on her motorcycle — alone. She wanted to go to India a few years back and on a whim decided it would be nice to do it on a motorcycle. The fact she’d never ridden one didn’t deter her. She’s a bit of a legend.
Brian: We bid farewell to Ken and Carol at Westfir, for the time being. They think they might ride to Alaska too, so we’ll meet up with them further north.
We head to Bend to meet up with Steve Cunningham, who we met in Argentina. We take the old road across McKenzie Pass, another summer-only road that’s only just opened for the season.
The scenery’s some of the best we’ve seen on this trip. The pass takes us through the Cascade Mountains with massive trees, snow covered mountains and lava fields. The road goes right through the solidified lava. We clamber across the top. It’s quite incredible. Everyone says Oregon is beautiful, but this is even better than we expected.
We’re running late because we have to stop when we see the Three Sisters — three snow covered breathtakingly beautiful mountains.
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Steve’s the perfect host, making us feel very much at home. He’s retired now but used to work for NASA. At last, I meet a real rocket scientist!
A real hit, particularly for Shirl who misses our mutt at home, is Ozzie the terrier. He’s a little crazy, well, actually he’s very crazy. He barks at his reflection in the bottom of the BBQ, thinking it’s another dog. Ozzie also likes to look at the computer screen and scratches Shirl on the leg until she picks him up so he can see what she’s doing. He goes nuts when he sees pictures of our dog, Jasper. He’s hilarious. I’m worried Shirl will try and steal him when we leave.
Bend is a gorgeous town with views of the Cascade Mountains. The outdoor High Desert Museum is not far from town. We walk in the gate and Shirl spies Smokey the Bear. While children wait to be photographed with this man-sized bear she gets her photo taken. It’s everything I can do to stop her buying a toy Smokey to add to our mascots. We already have Ken the koala and a Millie the Mylodon.
The real desert creatures we meet are cute in their own way, even the skunk. There’s a badger, a porcupine and a solitary otter that doesn’t play well with others so he’s on his lonesome.
As well as natural beauty, Bend has a plethora of brewery pubs. Steve takes us to one and we meet some more of the locals. Steve tells us the clientele age after 8.30 pm and it becomes more red-necked. He’s right, but it’s all interesting for us, especially the man in the 10-gallon hat at the bar.
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We don’t expect the scenery to get any better but it does. Steve’s told us about the back road to Mount Hood. It’s tremendous. We go back past the Three Sisters, through the Willamette National Forest to Detroit Lake. We take a small forest road through Mt Hood National Forest. It’s sensational — massive trees, blue sky swept with white clouds. This is possibly the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. All I can hear from Shirl is wow, wow, and wow, so I guess she agrees. Every corner offers up another view of Mount Hood framed by tall timber against the blue sky.
Shirley: We’ve had some great food in the US and some bloody awful food. Breakfast today at Bette’s Place in Hood River is the best yet: eggs sunny side up, homemade hash browns and the biggest pancake I’ve ever seen. Delicious.
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We keep heading north and there’s plenty more of the US to ride before we hit Canada. Leavenworth in Washington State is a little bit of Germany in the heart of America. There’s plenty of beer, bratwurst and sauerkraut and men wearing lederhosen.
Leavenworth is a town that reinvented itself. When the logging industry collapsed, the town was on the verge of extinction so the townsfolk turned it into a Bavarian village. Hey presto — a tourist destination is born.
We take the Chumstick Highway through the Cascades. We never get sick of the scenery and the twisty roads. We turn onto a dirt road that takes us alongside the raging Wenatchee River. Deer cross the road and little chipmunks scurry back into the bushes as we ride past. Gosh, it’s beautiful up here.
We pass a driver who waves us down. The track up ahead is blocked, so we turn back. Pity, it’s been a sensational ride.
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Every good thing comes to an end and so we head to Seattle. The bike needs a service before we head into Canada and beyond to Alaska.
We opt for a cheap motel on the edge of the city that’s a bit seedy. Down the road is Slim’s Last Chance Saloon. It’s a chilli joint and we get a taster plate on the house because we’re from out of town. Texas Red chilli and a glass of red are a pretty good combination. When the biker wearing the Bandidos patch arrives it’s probably time to head back to the motel.
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It’s July 4. BMW is shut so we head to the Olympic Peninsula. This is the wettest place on mainland USA and we expect the worse. The weather couldn’t be better. It’s not too hot and the sun is shining. We end up riding right around the peninsula. The road hugs the coast, past lovely beaches and then turns back into the Olympic National Forest. More incredible scenery around every corner. Brian even rides onto the beach — not bad on such a heavy bike.
Probably the most famous town on the peninsula is Forks, where Stephanie Meyers set her Twilight books. We’d never heard of the town but people come from far and wide to see the wettest town in the wettest area. We don’t see vampires or rain, thank goodness.
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When it was first established, Seattle was built on flood plains. The tide would take the sewage through the town and out to sea. When they installed toilets the rising tide would bring the sewage back into the toilet and they’d explode. Keeping the lid down didn’t help. It can’t have been pleasant.
So, the city fathers decide to build again, but raising the city up by a storey. This hid the original ground floor under the new road and footpath. The process took so long some industrious shopkeepers reopened their businesses and shoppers would climb up and down ladders from the roadway to visit these establishments.
Today some of these old footpaths and shopfronts, hidden in the basements of the new buildings, are open to visitors, as a fundraiser to save the old part of the city. It’s one of the most interesting tours we’ve done.
Even though we’re in the bowels of the city we walk past the front doors and display windows of some of the buildings. We go inside a couple and visit the teller’s cage and bank vault built to house the gold coming in from the rush on the Klondike. It’s fascinating.
Back at the motel we have visitors. Jens and Kati are here. They bypassed Central America and the US and shipped their bikes to Canada, staying with Cath and Les in Toronto, the couple we met at the Overland Expo. Now they’re on the west coast, on their way to Alaska and stopped by to catch up with us. We may well meet up with them further up the road.
Brian: The bike is serviced. The rear drive seal is holding and we’re on the road again. Tomorrow we’ll make our first border crossing since April, into Canada.
Another step closer to Alaska.