The road to Valemount

AFTER LOSING track of CCjon and Nestor in Montana, I happened upon a biker haunt in the woods west of Creston, British Columbia, spent a night there, rode a memorable 400 miles in the South and West ranges of the Kootenays, snoozed on the gravel shoulder of a dead-end road north of Kamloops, then got to where I am now, in Valemount, BC.

Here’s the view from the house Bob and Janey Weeks built on 50 acres overlooking the McLennan River. I was out of my tent before the sun was up this morning, snapped this pic while wandering around on the lawn brushing my teeth.

Two nights ago I’m mooching the free wifi outside a Burger King in Kamloops when an email pops over from CCjon. It was the first word I’d had on my amigos’ whereabouts after we took different roads north in Alberta.

CCjon and Nestor were camped that night in Dawson Creek, BC. Making Prudhoe Bay was and remains a long shot, given that Nestor has to be home in Colombia on a date certain. CCjon figures they need to catch an Alaska Marine Highway boat headed south by the 27th. If they do, they’ll be down around Seattle on the 31st.

I may be, too. All depends on where I feel like riding on the day I leave Valemount. I’ll figure it out once the motor is running.

Flashback to Montana, the Lode Ranch in Wheatland County. LO-dee, it’s a Dutch name.

This part of Montana is where the high plains end and the Rockies begin. My friend Robyn can tell you which five ranges are visible from the ranch. I can tell you three, the Crazies, the Beartooths and the Little Belts. I’ll go back someday and learn two more.

Here’s one of the guard dogs on the ranch, one of six that live outdoors 365 days a year. They run off the coyotes, or work together to run them down and kill them. These dogs are nobody’s pets, they work for a living.

Fifteen miles of gravel north of Harlowton gets you up to the ranch. When I left for Canada, Robyn told me how to find my way out to U.S. 191 instead of backtracking south to U.S. 12.

So I ride north to Alberta, camp in Fort Macleod, then it’s on to a biker hangout in British Columbia, a horse stable converted into an open-air saloon, complete with sawed-off saloon doors, partner.

I just missed the pig roast, the annual bash for riders headed east to Sturgis.

I ended up there only because so many of the roads going north were closed on account of wildfires. Had to ride pretty far west before turning north for Valemount.

It was quiet that night, only about a dozen bikers in camp, not enough critical mass for serious hootin & hollerin. I quaffed my last beer around 11, climbed into my sleeping bag and was gone.

The next day it was up into the Kootenays, for twisties up, sweepers down, sweepers up, twisties down, just a really great day with serious sidewall time at 65mph, give or take. I stopped in some of the little towns along the way, the fuel stops and fruit stands, buy a few peaches or apricots, chat up the locals and see what they know.

The iron piggy rode strong all the way, up past Salmo, Nelson, New Denver, Nakusp, then we boarded a ferry for the sail across Galena Bay.

On the other side I scooted north to the crossroads at Canada Route 1 and turned west for Kamloops.

I stopped to grab a shot of the sun going down. This young woman had the same idea. That’s quite a drop she’s standing on.

I wanted to keep moving that night, so instead of pulling over to make dinner I settled for burger slop at the BK, mooched the free wifi, saw the email from CCjon. It was good to know mi amigos were in fine traveling trim and still moving north.

I rode 20 miles out of town in the dark, with heavy truck traffic moving fast. Pulled off on a side road and went boondocking around 11 that night. I could have scouted out a place where my tent wouldn’t be noticed but my eyes were getting heavy. I threw my sleeping pad on the shoulder of the road, folded up a towel for a pillow and that was camp. Boots on, jacket on, prepared to stand up and ride on short notice, just stow the pad and roll on.

It was warm that night, and quite a skeetery place, so I rubbed a bit of DEET into my face and neck and the backs of my hands. You won’t get any rest under the stars if bugs are tormenting you.

This was all I had to pack up in the morning. And I got a fine rest. Counted satellites for a while, saw a few meteorites streak in, then I slipped away to a dreamless oblivion while the piggy stood guard.

I woke up cold at 4, the temperature had plummeted. For an extra layer I put on my rain jacket over the motorcycle jacket, then back down until 6.

Sunrise, going north that morning. I rode 120 miles before stopping to make breakfast, the old standby, oatmeal and cowboy coffee. This was in a little lakeside park in Blue River, BC.

A friendly dog hung around me. He had an Irish Setter coat but a bigger head, really a handsome animal. I took my helmet off the highway peg and put it up on the seat when I saw how much he liked to mark territory.

I ate while he dug down through a fire pit, lapping up ashes soaked with bacon grease. Then he traveled on, and I did likewise.

Tony DePaul, August 9, 2018, Valemount, British Columbia, Canada