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August 9, 2014
Day 22 - New Hazelton, B.C. to McLeese Lake Resort, B.C. (Sat 8/9/14)
Above: A cow moose in a flooded field along the Dease Lake/Stewart Cassiar Highway (BC 37).
Additional photos in the Extended Entry.
Driving to Cache Creek, B.C. today.
(Sat 8/9/14)
Update: I am alive and well and resting peacefully in a small cabin on the banks of McLeese Lake, a lake in the Cariboo region of British Columbia, Canada, on the Cariboo Highway (BC 97).
Starting Odometer: 22,429
Ending Odometer: 22,869
Miles Driven Today: 440
Miles Driven This Trip: 8,216
Here's a map of roughly where we drove today.
Today....
Wow. What was today like? Hmmmm.
OK. So, we wake up in New Hazelton, B.C. Ben gets up before 8:00 a.m....before my alarm goes off. We've agreed to get up at 8:00 a.m. and then leave at 8:30 a.m. or 9:00 a.m. But he's already up, dressed, has his bike packed up, and is threatening to leave.
"Dude...are you up already? It's not even 8:00 a.m. I was up until 3:00 a.m. working on my website."
"I think I'm just going to go ahead an go..." he offers. Like...I'm not clear where this is coming from. Maybe I did somethiing to piss him off. I'm not clear.
"Well don't do that, homo. Give me a second. I'll get up. I'll be ready to go in 30 minutes. Cool your jets."
"OK. While you get ready, I'll go look at Old Hazelton. Check that place out, eh?"
"Yeah. Sure. You go do that, genius."
So, he rolls out on his bike. I'm not clear if he's really coming back or not. Maybe he's mad at me. It's hard to know with Canuks.
I jump up, pack up all my gear. Now, I'm washing my bike out in the parking lot. Like, if you're not working on your bike, you should be cleaning it. That's about how it goes. When you're riding it all day, it's constantly getting covered in bugs and mud. The bugs make the must foul smell you could ever imagine.
I'm washing my bike, when Ben pulls up.
"Old Hazleton is nothing great. You're not missing anything."
Now, we're rolling south out of New Hazleton towards Prince George. The weather is nice. This is our third day of riding with no significant amount of rain, which is great.
The general plan is to run 150 miles at a time, stopping for meals and gas every 150 miles. That's sort of the general, high-level plan. So we roll south for 150 miles, then stop for breakfast.
It's nice to get up early, hit the road, drive 150 miles, then stop and eat breakfast. This way, you feel like you've gotten somewhere. You've made some progress before noon. You really need to put in 100-150 miles before noon. Otherwise, your day is completely shot.
The problem is that, when you drive a motorcycle for an hour or so, you tend to sort of fall into a tunnel-vision mode. So, you end up just watching this point on the horizon and driving towards it. Not so much noticing the environment you're driving through. So, it's good to take breaks, get gas, get food, whatever you need to do to break up the driving, so that you're refreshed when you start driving again.
As we drive south, the days get shorter, and the air gets warmer.
We come to the town of Smithers. It's a town with some commercial buildings and it's really shocking, I think, to come rolling back into civilization again. Like...I don't feel any particular affinity for it. For this commercialized real estate with these stores and parking lots. It's really shocking. Not anything I want any part of, really. So we just roll through.
At Burns Lake, we stop fort breakfast, and then end up talking to the cook and one of his friends out back.
They're asking where we've been, where we're going, etc.
This is really the most enjoyable part of the trip. People look at us and can tell we're on a pretty serious adventure ride. They always want to know where we came from. Where we're going. Where we've been.
This part is just pretty much a joy ride because, they can see that we're out here having the time of our lives. And everyone wants in. They've all got their suggestions of where we should go. What we should see. Which is greatly appreciated, of course. It's sort of contagious...this cross-country adrenaline-fueled joy ride.
The oook says that there's a Grizzly Bear back at the airport in Smithers that's the largest one ever killed on planet earth. That it was so big, it was eating a cow a day when they killed it. But we've already passed Smithers. And I'm not going to start backtracking.
After breakfast, we stop at a gas station. Ben is doing this trick where he's pouring gas out of his gas can and into his gas tank on the bike. His theory is that we don't need the extra gas any more because we're back in civilization. Which is fine. That's his deal. But I'm not giving up my extra gas. I've still got thousands of miles to go before I'm home. And I've run out of gas in the deserts of Idaho before. It's not a good feeling. We ride on.
As we roll south, towards Prince George, I don't really see anything that looks familiar. Like...I have been this way before...but nothing really sticks, apparently. I don't recall any of this terrain.
Somewhere, along the way, a moose on the side of the road standing in a flooded field. I stop to shoot a few pics with the big lens.
By the time we roll into the town of Quesnell, we've gone 340 miles. We've been on the road for hours. I only got 5 hours of sleep last night. And I'm starting to fall asleep on the bike. That would be a bad thing. A very bad thing
Suddenly, we roll into downtown Quesnel, and it looks familiar. I remember the place.
"Here's the Tim Hortons where I stopped last time. And I remember this bridge. I took pictures of this bridge last time."
Like..OK...great...my brain isn't completely fried. I do remember SOME things from last time I was here.
"Dude...let's stop here at Tim Horton's and get a cup of coffee and a donut. I'm about to fall asleep."
So we grab a donut and some coffee. Sit and chat for a bit to try to wake up.
Out in the parking lot, a guy stops by to ask us some questions. We really are treated like rock stars. Like...seriously...I've never gotten this much attention in my life. Everyone wants to know who we are and where we're going. The guy has come out to work on some project in the oil fields up in Alberta, apparently. He's living out of his truck. Wants pics of us with the bikes. It's pretty fun being treated like a celebrity.
Now, rolling south again. We're gunning for Cache Creek, which is still 150 miles away. I don't say anything to Ben. I've been pushing him pretty hard these last few days. Now, we're following this spectacular river...the Fraser River...this is where they found gold back in the 1800's. They found it in the Fraser River, in the Yukon, and it one other places. After those three areas were worked over, everyone packed up and left. But the river is just spectacular.
Ben pulls over at a scenic overlook, looking out over the Fraser River. It's a stunning view. I think he's fixing to propose to me.
"Look...dude....I think I'm going to crash here tonight...in the tent....Is that OK? Would you be pissed?"
"No, dude. That's totally fine. I'll probably just roll down to 100 Mile House and crash there in a hostel or something. No sweat. Where are you going to camp?"
"I saw a road back there a bit...."
"Come on...I'll follow you..."
So, douche-bag turns around and backtracks about a mile or so. Now, we're driving down this gravel road towards the river-bed, about a hundred meters below us. Now, driving through a herd of open-range goats. Now, down a long, narrow gravel road. Finally, we stumble onto a little quasi-legal campsite on the banks of the Fraser River.
The place is spectacular. Stunning.
"Shit. I wish I had a tent...." I offer. I think about running back up to Quesnel, buying a tent at Wal-mart, and camping out. But, this isn't really my thing. I need internet, a shower, a wall outlet to recharge my Garmin, my GoPro, my Canons, my Macbook, my iPad, etc. Finally, I just bid him farewell.
"I hope you get eaten by a bear, homo. Look for me in 100 Mile House in the morning. I'll have my bike by the side of the road so you won't miss it."
Like you can't count on having cell coverage in these places, of course. So you have to go back to the old-school way of doing things.
"Don't come by before 8:00 a.m., because I'll still be in bed."
So, I leave his gay ass down there by this spectacular winding gold-rush-era river, and head towards 100 mile house to climb into my urban squalor asphalt-parking-lot shit-hole, and 5 miles down the road, I stumble across Lake McLeese. Lake McLeese has private cabins looking out over a stunning lake, with people swimming in it, water skiing, grilling out, etc. It's just spectacular. And it has showers, bathrooms, electrical outlets in the cabins, and WiFi. "SCORE!"
So, I leave the homo down by the river, and check in for the night. I may not have the best
view, but I'll settle for 2nd best view with WiFi and a hot shower.
I sit outside on my little font porch facing the lake, but someone's music is distracting me. Like...that's so annoying. I didn't come to a like in B.C. to listen to your shitty music.
I'm seriously working on communicating to other people what I need them to do for me, so, I walk down there, identify the source, and ask them to turn it down.
"Can you please turn your music down?"
"Where are you staying?" She wants to know. As if that's somehow relevant.
"I'm two cabins down..." I offer.
"But there's only two more cabins down there," she counters.
Like...yeah....there are 2 cabins down there, so when I say I'm two cabins down, that means I'm the second one. I can imagine how this must be confusing for you, being retarded and all.
"I can understand that this must be difficult for you. But if I were you, I'd focus less on where I'm staying, and more on turning the music down. Either you can turn it down, or I can go tell the people that run the park to have you turn it down."
The days really are getting shorter I can't believe it's already dark at 10:30 at night. Ridiculous. Now, I'm going to go for a swim in my lake by the light of the full moon.
OK. That lake was freezing. Almost as cold as the Arctic Ocean. I got in up to my knees and said "forget it".
Tomorrow, we'll get up and drive down to Cache Creek, eat lunch, then drive through Hell's Gates, and down the Sea-to-Sky Highway (99) into Vancouver. This should be about 365 miles, and the weather forecast looks clear and sunny.
Update: We never went through Hell's Gate. This was something I learned about on the road. I thought that the entrance to the Sea-to-Sky Highway (BC 99) was referred to as "Hell's Gates". In fact, Hell's Gate is south of Lytton, B.C. on the Trans-Canada Highway (Highway 1).
Photos in the Extended Entry.
Above: A cow moose in a flooded field along the Dease Lake/Stewart Cassiar Highway (BC 37).
Above: Some mountains along the Dease Lake/Stewart Cassiar Highway (BC 37).
Above: A farmer harvests hay along the Dease Lake/Stewart Cassiar Highway (BC 37).
Above: As we get closer to civilization, Ben pours gas from his reserve tank into his KLR's gas tank. This reduces the weight of the bike, getting better gas mileage.
Above: We stop at Tim Horton's in Quesnell, B.C. for coffee and donuts so I could wake up a bit, as I was getting sleepy and experiencing tunnel vision. Here, a guy is asking about our adventure. It was like this pretty much every time we stopped. People would see our mud-covered bikes, ad-hoc jerry cans, and want to know if we were truly insane, or just mildly disturbed.
Above: Old, abandoned farmhouse along the Stewart Cassiar Highway (BC 37).
Above: Ben camped down on the Fraser River. I ended up in a little lakeside cabin at McLeese Lake Resort about 9 km south of him.
Posted by Rob Kiser on August 9, 2014 at 11:55 AM
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