North America: Riding a 21 year old Goldwing: 23 - Whitehorse, Dawson & The Top of the World Highway

Today was a long, long day. It was fun and challenging, but it was long. 14 hours of very hard riding, compounded by my determination to stop only for fuel, had made for a very tired body and mind. As an off-the-chart extrovert, I get energy from being around people. After 14 hours on the bike, I was very glad to get to a motorcycle friendly campground with travelers of all sorts, but especially lots of bikers. I quickly met Kevin and Aaron as they were working on Kevin's Bimmer. Kevin's bright red bike is the same color as the motorcycle I had in college; my very good-looking 1989 Honda Hawk GT. Rumor has it that parts of it are still around Charlottesville. After wrecking it, I've kept the speedometer in my bedroom or closet as a constant reminder to ride safely.

Anyhow, Aaron is my age and the three of us hit it off right away. After setting up camp, I went on a beer run while they buttoned up Kevin's bike. $32 for 15 cans of Kokanee beer!!!

We hung out for quite awhile. It was still light at midnight so it was easy to stay up even after a back-breaking day of riding. The three of us talked motorcycles, talked riding, talked life experiences, work ethic, goals, plans, family, friends, and other topics usually reserved for only the closest of friends.

The next morning, I slept in. Way in. After several days of long rides and late nights, the road and the 18+ hours of daylight had taken a toll. They guys had convinced me to slow down and take a break. Knowing when I left I faced 300 miles of bone-jarring pavement and gravel between Whitehorse and Dawson, it hadn't been too hard to convince me to hang out for a day.

We rode into town together. Aaron is looking at the newly dubbed "Old Wing."

He's a heck of a guy and the nickname seemed fitting for my tired old sled .

Aaron's working on his 650 Dakar BMW. The bags come off in seconds.

I said goodbye to Aaron and a couple here from New Zealand. They had just ridden back from Pruhdoe Bay. That's on the shores of the Arctic Ocean, over a 1,000 mile roundtrip ride from Fairbanks. It's the so remote and probably the least maintained stretch of road in North America. It's so cool to meet people from all over the world who ship their bikes here to ride. I've met people from: England, Ireland, Norway, Denmark, Russia, Germany, New Zealand, Australia, Brazil, Chile, and Peru. I've met people in route to: Baja, Panama, Costa Rica, and Argentina.

Off to Dawson, the last stretch before the Top of the World Highway and the border crossing into Alaska.

Coming over hills like this is quite a feeling. I can only imagine what explorers thought when the world was still supposed to be flat. If one believed there was an edge to the earth, this is as good of an optical illusion as any.

In Whitehorse, Aaron had given me his gas tanks. He had spent the last few weeks in Alaska and was headed back to Seattle. My newly acquired tanks were full and strapped to my floorboards. The bike certainly looked more like and adventure bike for sure.

The last 50 miles of gravel and potholes had taken their toll. I smelt gas. Knowing there wasn't anyone else around but me, it could only mean one thing.

After stopping very quickly, I jumped off to see a can dangling from the side with fuel pouring out of the can. The passenger floorboards are directly over the exhaust pipes. ... the very hot exhaust pipes.

I put the face shield down on my helmet, tilted it forward and stuffed my collar under the helmet.

Thoughts of a car-b-que flashed through my mind. Living inside the DC Beltway during the telecom boom, I regularly heard traffic reports which included the details of some poor driver whose car had gone up in flames.

The fuel poured out and the smell was scary. I grabbed the can and bungee cord and got it free and ran 15 yards before turning around.

Disaster averted.

Though I hated to cause an environmental incident in the Yukon, I had no choice but to leave the damaged can.

Littering is Trashy.

If only I had Loonie for every one of these signs I saw during the last 1,000 miles. Dusty? No kidding... look at the road. It's very packed and predictable though and riding at 65 mph was usually appropriate.

FYI - Loonies are Canadian Dollar coins. The kind required for the coin-operated showers.

Finally, I'd made it to Dawson. Sweet!

It's a cool town.

None of the streets are paved.

Potholes abound.

Motorcycles must make every move precisely and take great care not to lose concentration for even a moment.

Kevin stopped by my campsite around 11 or so. I'd gotten there hours earlier and set up outside of town. I was about to go to sleep to get up early and ride to Chicken, Tok, and Fairbanks. Tomorrow would be a tough day. Kevin had to wait for a part to come in to Whitehorse and had time to kill, so he set off for the downtown campground and and the Dawson City nightlife.

Cheers buddy!

I broke camp early and nervously set off toward what I knew to be the toughest and most challenging part of the trip. The Top of the World Highway. 100+ miles a gravel and bad potholes. There are no guardrails. There is no question why it's called the Top of the World Highway.

The morning began with a ferry ride across the river. I talked to a guy in the ferry queue from Alaska who had just driven his girlfriend to the airport four days earlier. After three Alaska winters, she couldn't do a fourth and had to go back home... to North Carolina. He hadn't seen my tags before telling me that. She was from Goldsboro, NC and he was heartbroken.

Alaska isn't for everyone... at least not year-round.

The Canadian side wasn't too bad. Remote, steep and isolated, but not too technical. The American side was notorious for very poor conditions. 43 Miles to go.

Woo hoo! I made it to Alaska. 49 of 50 with only one more to go.

Check out the road and the ruts.

I came around a corner and saw the sign. I was going too fast to see the girls or the truck. I misread the sign and though it said "Recreation Studio." I expected an exhibit. Photography perhaps? Perhaps adventure photography?

They are students in Fairbanks and set up for a week and camp and take surveys when people stop. Every week, they go to a new spot. The research is for a PhD student. I know how frustrating data collection can be so I did my part. I told them of Jesse from Black Hills State University that I met at dawn in The Badlands who interned as a photographer for the State Department of Tourism. These girls definitely had the second coolest undergrad internship. They worked a few hours or so and then would go for a hike. Work a few more hours and then go climb a mountain. The next day, perhaps take a break to swim or fish. It suited them quite well.