The Canadian Caper - Turning my New VFR into a Real Adventure *Final Installment*

[dr.toto]

Olive, when a few days go by and I don't see a post, I become concerned. Please try to post more often. :biggrin: I'm very disappointed that I didn't get to meet you. Great posts.

[Lee 2002]

You could see for miles in every direction, the wind rippling the grass like waves on the ocean.

In the spring, when the grass waist to armpit tall, it is amazing how much the grass resembles the ocean with it's waves.

As best I have been able to figure, the horizon is at least 22 miles in the distance from this vantage point.

Many people would think... "Moose, in Kansas? WTF?" However it wasn't too many years ago that there was a moose wandering around this area.... It had came down from Minnesota, wandered around for a few weeks then wandered back to the north. KDWP made it very clear in the newspaper and on television that moose was NOT a legal species to hunt in Kansas. (Just as they are doing right now with mountain lion)

I believe this is Ceres, the Greek Goddess of Grain.

Apparently Canada qualifies as reasonably foreign.

It was absolutely fantastic to be shown the sights by Lee2002. Not only did he route me on interesting roads, but also helped me set up some great photo opportunities. It is people like Lee2002 and his family that will stand out in my mind when I think back to this adventure. (Thanks again for the fantastic hospitality Lee2002!)

Oh yeah, "Canadia" is foreign. Eh?

It was an honor and pleasure to host you. Eh!

[Guest]

unhh... over already? Now what am I gonna do for the rest of the night?

[Guest]

...got to the end of the page AGAIN and no new installment... I hear patience is a vurtue...

[Olive]

...got to the end of the page AGAIN and no new installment... I hear patience is a vurtue...

Next update should be online tonight... the weather outside is beautiful and I plan to take advantage of the opportunity before the snow forces me to park for good.

[cruzinaz]

Whats snow? :laughing6-hehe: :laughing6-hehe: Oh yeah, we hve some in the mountains in the "winter" here........really nice to look at :laughing6-hehe:

[Guest]

HOOTIE-WHOO!!!

[Olive]

Waking up early, I packed the bike in the drizzling rain. The sun was barely beginning to brighten the sky. I headed out to the Flying J truckstop where I had made plans to meet up with Marid2aPtrblt. He had 18 wheels to my 2, so since parking for him was an issue, I let him decide what was good for coffee. Pulling into the parking lot, I parked the bike and snagged my tank bag. I walked inside and noted that the restaurant wasn't quite open yet. I was a few minutes early.

My phone chimed. It was Marid. He wanted to know where I was. "I'm right here. Where are you?". Apparently he thought he had been keeping watch on the front entrance, but had missed my bike sneaking in. We met up as the restaurant opened, and sat down at a table. It was rather dark until the waitress remembered to turn on the lights. At least the coffee was fresh and hot. We chatted for a while about his roads in the Smokey Mountains that I had ridden a few days previous. It was good to meet him in person. It seemed rather amusing that we had met up in Nebraska - what were the odds?

After breakfast, we both headed out for the road heading opposite directions. His parting words to me were "Good luck. Enjoy Wyoming". Hmmm... that sounded just sarcastic enough to tell me that there were plenty of straight roads ahead.

The rain was still coming down making the temperature feel cooler than it really was. I was glad for my layers, and got back on the bike reminding myself NOT to flip the "heated grip switch". My plan for the day was to follow the Interstate for a short while, and then cut North West across the state. As I traveled the rain got a little heavier, obscuring visibility. The spray coming up from other vehicles, like the 18 wheelers that I was sharing the road with didn't help much either. I rode for a while, and then pulled off the road to fill the gas tank. Hmm... Chappell... yes, I did miss the turnoff in the rain. It didn't surprise me, at times visibility on the highway left a lot to be desired. But there were some other options available to me, they just extended the ride a little further. I followed some secondary highways, working my way west and then north to join up to the 26. The rain continued through the morning, at times letting up for a short while, only to have the clouds roll in again. On every long trip I have taken, I have had opportunity for a wet run. Unfortunately my rain gear was at home - I simply didn't have enough room to pack it for the trip. At least I was wearing textiles which helped out a lot with the wet, but the water still found its way in.

I rode past a lot of small farms and ranches. Every single farm seemed to have a small windmill on a hill. I understand that these are usually used for the purpose of powering a water pump. They were a very common sight Kansas and beyond, especially prevalent in Nebraska.

The rain let up after a while, but by that point I was already soaked to the skin. My path kept on taking me through scattered showers and down wet roads.

Some hills in the distance broke up the monotony.

In the distance I saw a tall peaked rock, and a lot of signs as I traveled advertised that this was the route to Chimney Rock. I took a short detour to check it out.

The rain let up long enough to take out the camera.

And once again I found myself in Rattlesnake Territory.

Back on the road, the rain started again. I rode for a while, stopping for a coffee and to warm up in Scott's Bluff. A few cups of coffee later, I headed back on the road. Turning up the 85, I saw a lot of straight roads. Very quiet straight roads. I rode for a while, through rain, then through clouds, then more rain. The roads were quiet enough that I had the Ipod turned on for a bit of company.

I saw a lot of this.

And this.

And this.

And this.

And this.

And a bit more of this.

With the occasional curve on the road. Very occasional.

Most of the time I had the road to myself, with very few cars even traveling the opposite direction. Reaching Lusk, I topped up the gas tank, and continued north. In the distance ahead of me there were a few cars. I gradually came up on them, slowing up my speed as I noticed the markings on the back of the trailing car. He pulled off to the side of the road, and I slowed up even more as I passed him, keeping very careful note of my speed. Almost immediately he pulled out behind me with his distinctive red and blues flashing. With a bit of unladylike language, I immediately pulled over to the side of the road. I turned off the bike, flipped down the kickstand and unplugged myself from the Ipod so I could hear him.

Sure enough, he had clocked my speed coming up from behind. The roads were straight and boring, and a ticket was going to do very little to improve them for me. He noted that I was running with a temporary plate from North Carolina, and asked about it. I explained that I was taking the bike home to Calgary. He seemed rather impressed by the distance that I had already covered, although he obviously took exception with the speed that I was trying to cover it in. I acknowledged that I had let the speed creep up a little. I handed over my license, temporary papers on the bike and insurance - not too happy with the situation. I figured at this point I had little to lose, so I asked "Is there any way that you can let me go with a warning?". And that is exactly what I got. A written up warning ticket citing speed as the caution. I promised that I would take careful note of my speed very thankful that I had managed to avoid an expensive ticket. (And no, I'm NOT going to admit here exactly how fast I was traveling... all I can say is that I am VERY glad that I had not been tagged a little earlier in the day when I had been a little more optimistic with my right wrist.).

Warning in hand I headed back down the highway. I figured that if I got pulled over a second time that I would have a ticket for sure, so I tried to stay within the posted limit on straight, boring roads that really tried my resolve.

I stopped a few times for photos. I love the lighting in this one on the tree, with the dramatic clouds obvious in the background.

A roadside rest stop provided maps, and restrooms for men, women and man's best friend.

All day I was in and out of rain, finally stopping in Sheradin, Wyoming cold, wet and tired after a day of far too many straight roads. It was getting dark and I had been having difficulty finding a campground. I had found one, but rejected it after looking at the condition of the construction zone I would have to ride through (very muddy). I rode through down looking for either a cheap hotel or the other hidden RV campground that was supposed to be in the middle of town. I wound up taking a motel room for the night. I decided that it wasn't that much more than a campground - especially not if that campground was for RVs. I negotiated a better rate, and unpacked my bike. The motel had laundry facilities, and I made use of the dryer, rather glad that I hadn't pitched a tent that night. My sleeping bag was rather damp, as was my extra clothing.

Stay tuned for the final push home, a marathon ride.

[ron_al]

Wow. Just wow.

Olive, your write-up of this adventure has been wonderful - thank you so much for sharing! I have truly found this quite inspirational.

I look forward to seeing the final installment!

Ron

[Guest]

Totally cool, Olive!! I was going to ask a few questions--many of which were answered during the reading. I was going to ask about the issue of speed and straight roads---and also if you ran into any extended showers. If you don't mind me asking--and if you do, that is quite understandable--what was your budget for the trip not counting the cost of our new scoot? How much total time were you on the road from touch down in Charlotte to when you arrived home? This was the hi-lite of my long nite!! I think I will be able to survive until the next installment.

[Olive]

I don't mind the questions at all!

what was your budget for the trip not counting the cost of our new scoot?

If I exclude the costs that I lump together as the cost of the bike (flight down, bike cost, cost to import, taxes), the trip including food, lodging, gas and incidentals was around $550 if memory serves me correctly. I can travel on a shoestring budget. Gas is my biggest expense.

How much total time were you on the road from touch down in Charlotte to when you arrived home?

I landed in Charlotte on September 30th in the early evening, and picked up the bike October 1st. I arrived home on October 12th at 2:30 am (technically still October 11th because I hadn't stopped for the night yet). I spent some time visiting with people that I know in the Atlanta area, and didn't start my trek home from there until October 4th. (Of course, that tale will be told in the next installment).

[Snakeman]

Awesome write ups!! But be warned the weathermen are predicting Snow in Calgarys forecast tomorrow. So be safe coming home.

[HispanicSlammer]

AWW SHOOT - I thought you were going through the Black Hill?

[Olive]

@Snakeman - it's snowing right now. I returned from the trip in the wee hours of October 12th, and am tardy getting photos organized and the writeups done.

@HS - I thought I was... Apparently my "manual GPS" wasn't quite as cooperative as I had hoped. I re-routed with a missed turnoff and apparently had highlighted the wrong roads on the map. I debated on taking the extra day for the trip, but opted to use the time in Canada crossing the border on the 11th just in case I hit a snag exporting/importing. I had a deadline for my return because work was expecting me.

[LookingHard]

Olive,

As a bikeless lurker I have really enjoyed reading about your trip home, especially since I rode from South Carolina to Calgary and back a few years ago.

Two of the four of us got new tires at 'Bow Cycles', in Calgary(?), which was very helpful and considerate of riders on a tight schedule. Beautiful area to ride in.

Glad you had a good experience and I'm impressed at how 'inexpensively' you can travel.

LookingHard

[Olive]

I think most places try to accomodate riders from out of town.

Earlier this year I replaced a rear tire in Bakersfield CA at a Cycle Gear. The manager seemed quite amused when he explained to me that they couldn't remove the wheel from the bike. I told him that wasn't a problem for me as long as someone could spot the bike while I put it up on the centerstand. I wasn't at all concerned with removing the wheel from the bike - like the VFR the F800S has a single sided swingarm, although it is necessary to loosen off the slip on exhaust and swing it out of the way to obtain enough clearance to pull the wheel. The first time I replaced the rear tire on that bike I didn't have a center stand which really complicated the entire process. But that's a tale for another thread.

[HispanicSlammer]

There is a silent beauty to western plains though isnt there, solitude and plenty of time to reflect on things and just think - some say its boring but for me I love the solitude, its rehabilitating.

[Olive]

There is a silent beauty to western plains though isnt there, solitude and plenty of time to reflect on things and just think - some say its boring but for me I love the solitude, its rehabilitating.

Beauty can be found anywhere you look. At times the plains are nice, although I find that mountains, the rock formations of Utah and oceans speak more to my soul. I prefer quiet roads without another vehicle in sight and really enjoy my time riding solo. It's all part of the journey.

[Dutchy]

That read like the name of a Scottish band from the 90's.... Wet Wet Wet...... :biggrin:

[Guest]

your photography is stunning and your ride has been so entertaining that i can't wait to read your next installment. good luck with the rest of your journey, godspeed.

[Graves]

Man some of those roads through Nebraska and Wyoming bring back memories. I live in Omaha, NE but my mother's family lives in northern Wyoming just outside of Cody. My sister went to College in Chadron, NE. so we would always drive through where you we're at on our way up to Powell, WY.

Nice write up. I can't wait to read the last bit. We used to live in Great Falls, MT, So i can't wait to see what photos you have going through Big sky Country.

Cheers :beer:

Graves

[Guest]

The true test of great writing: after the read, i feel like Ive been there!

[Olive]

Decisions, decisions.

There were a few options open to me. I didn’t have to be back to work until Tuesday evening at 11:30 pm, and I was no stranger to flipping shift back to nights after riding all day. However the weather left a bit to be desired, and there was one huge variable. How easy would it be to export and import the bike at the border?

I had all of my paperwork in order, and had faxed the US government everything they needed well in advance for exporting the bike. I had even called a few days into my trip to ensure that they had received everything that they required. They claimed that they did. The Canadian government didn’t want anything in advance, they just wanted me to show up with the bike. Dealing with two governments and an international border might take longer than I was anticipating, so it seemed prudent to arrive with a bit of time to spare.

I ruefully looked at routing I had marked on the map that promised another adventure, and opted instead to take a more direct route as I left Wyoming behind and headed into Montana.

Every single time I ride in Montana I am greeted with the same type of conditions – rain and high winds. Without fail. The sunshine, such as it was, already had a very watery characteristic to it… and the forecast promised more of the same.

I packed up the bike, carefully wrapping my now dry stuff in plastic garbage bags, and headed down the road. I kept on riding through periods of rain, and then sections of road that showed evidence of recent rain.

After a while the wind began to pick up. The VFR is fairly well centred, but I still could feel myself fighting the wind. Every so often a gust would give me a hard shove over, and I would shove right back to maintain my position on the road.

I noted that some of the other vehicles on the road were also being pushed around by the wind – especially when large trucks went past and momentarily blocked it. It wasn’t bad enough to cause me to slow back, but it had me riding with respect for the posted speed limit.

At times it felt as if I had an ape sitting on my shoulder trying to twist my helmet off. The cheek pads of my helmet are in dire need of replacement, and I had mistakenly thought I would be able to find them easily in the states. Everywhere I stopped to ask told me that they could order them in for the next day. (It didn’t help me out given that I was planning to be a number of miles away by that point in time). Not much I could do about it at that point, so it would have to wait until I got home.

After a couple of hours of this I stopped for gas, and to warm up with a coffee. That wind was cutting right through me, and the damp wasn’t helping much either. I paused to pull on an extra long sleeved shirt under my gear, hoping to retain the warmth of the coffee. It didn’t last for long.

I opted to avoid the main highways, and stuck to some of the quieter and more interesting side roads. The weather wasn’t very conducive for photos, and I was already cold and not in the mood to stop and sightsee. It seems the last day of a trip I start to become a bit more focused on the end goal, pushing for distance.

A break in the rain I stopped to take a few photos of the colourful fall trees. The wet ground is evident.

Blue skies ahead held out the promise of better weather. Unfortunately it was a short lived false promise, and the camera was tucked away safe and dry as the dark clouds rolled in again.

I headed onwards. A sign advised that the next gas station was 40 miles away. I checked my dash, confident that I had plenty of gas and there was no need to turn around to re-visit the gas station that I had just passed.

Coming up over a hill I was greeted with the bright orange signs that road construction lay ahead.

Montana takes an interesting view of road construction. Rather than a civilized approach where half the road is torn up and closed for resurfacing work, and traffic is redirected across the paved section, they just take out the entire road. What lay directly ahead of me was the end of the pavement. Mud. Large rocks that were a little too large to be even optimistically called gravel. Did I mention the slick mud?

I slowed and carefully took the bike off the edge of the pavement – it was quite a significant drop off. Then started to pick my way through the mud. Under my tires I could feel rocks squishing down and sliding side to side, and sometimes pushing my bike side to side. It wasn’t confidence building. The wind shoved hard at me and the bike. I really didn’t want to be picking the bike up in the middle of the construction zone, so I carefully picked my way around water filled potholes that resembled small craters.

Looking ahead the construction zone stretched to the visual horizon at the top of the next hill. I fervently hoped that it would be reasonably short, and continued to focus on what I was doing, trying to keep up a decent speed to maintain stability as I battled the wind and the road surface.

As I crested the next hill, I saw with dismay that the zone stretched onwards. It was with a lot of relief that I finally approached the end of the war zone, and nudged my bike back up on solid pavement. This was a good time to park the bike and take a brief break.

Starting the bike back up, I noticed my low fuel indicator light come on. It was a little earlier than I had expected, but the strong head and side winds that I had been battling had obviously impacted my gas mileage. I figured that there was only another 10 miles to the next gas station.

As I started going over the hills I spotted a specific type of farm… a wind farm. The tall majestic windmills with utilitarian paddles drove huge turbo generators. It was a prime spot for it if the winds pushing me around on the road. It stretched out in the distance, over the hills, as far as the eye could see – a strange form of urban forest. I considered briefly pausing for a photo, but there was little shoulder and the winds were shoving me around with a lot of force.

Finally I left the metallic forest behind, and continued through foothills. I passed a number of small towns that had seen better days. A collection of a few houses huddled together. Some of them had buildings boarded up. As I passed the remains of a gas station it dawned on me that the road signs had indicated that there weren’t many towns around here, and I had already passed the 40 mile marker. I had been watching for gas stations and hadn’t seen any that actually were still gas stations. Not a good sign. Turning back was not an option.

I started taking it a little easier, and watched the miles continue to tick away. Road signs indicated that there was an intersection ahead, but the next marked town was still quite some distance away. I had visions of parking the bike and using my left thumb to make a new friend.

As I approached the intersection I was very glad to see a small squat building at the corner. I rolled into the gas station and filled the tank right up to the top. Slightly over 6 gallons. Uhhh… I didn’t think that the gas tank on the VFR was that large? I had obviously been running on fumes.

Darker clouds started to roll back in. They do call Montana "Big Sky Country"... but as I rode through the State I wished the skies featured a little more sunshine.

The rain started coming down again, drenching me and the bike. It was being pushed at me in sheets.

Turning west, I headed down the busier highway. Although marked as an Interstate, it didn’t seem to have nearly enough traffic or lanes to qualify.

Another brief photo stop between rain showers.

I continued riding on to Great Falls as the rain finally let up.

It was dinner time, and since it was Canadian Thanksgiving I decided to stop for a decent dinner. Riding past a few restaurants it dawned on me that I really wasn’t dressed right for it, and my gear was wet enough that any restaurant with fabric seats probably wouldn’t appreciate me as a patron.

Hmmm… Hardees. That will do.

I squished into the restaurant, and ordered my "Thanksgiving Dinner" – a burger, fries and a pop. (Yes, Canadian Thanksgiving is in early October). Sitting down in the plastic booth I divested myself of some of my layers, using the booth behind me as a makeshift clothes horse.

There was only one other patron in the restaurant. Obviously also a traveller, but by the looks of him and his luggage, he had found himself on hard times. We sat at opposite ends of the restaurant not even acknowledging each other. At the front the shift manager and one of her employees argued loudly. Bemused I sat back, ate my dinner and turned up the volume on my Ipod trying to drown it out.

Across from the restaurant a city park featured military aircraft.

The sun was beginning to set, and I decided that I would try to make the border, it was only a couple of hours north. I was wet and sore from battling the high winds all day, but felt that I still had a few miles in me yet. For some reason I hadn’t seen many other bikes out on the road.

As the sun dropped beneath the horizon, the temperatures followed suit. I stopped at a rest stop to put on the rest of my clothing, feeling a little like the Michelin Man as I tucked polar fleece inside the jacket and tried to close the straining zipper. I put an extra pair of stretch cotton gloves inside my riding gloves for added insulation, turned the heated vest on high and returned to the road.

It got dark quickly, and I continued to head north. The wind continued to gust ferociously, pushing me around on the road. In a few sections I dropped a little under the speed limit because it felt like I was beginning to lose control over which lane the bike was in.

Eventually signs indicated that the Coutts/Sweetgrass border crossing lay ahead. A one lane parking area was clearly signed “Vehicles for Export”. I pulled the bike into the empty lane, and gathered up my tank bag. There were no signs apart from the one indicating parking, so I headed for the main US Customs building, trailing the cord from my heated vest, and carrying my tank bag. I’m sure that whomever was manning the security camera gave me a few odd looks as I entered the building. It dawned on me that the coiled power plug hanging out of the bottom of my obviously over stuffed jacket might be seen by some as a cause for alarm, so I tried to stuff it under my jacket as I headed up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs a waiting area with chairs greeted me. An open office area lay opposite, with a long row of sterile counters. I approached the one with a hanging sign marked “Vehicle Exports”.

A bored border services officer approached me, and when I indicated that I was exporting a motorcycle he expressed his view that I must be insane to be riding it – after all, didn’t I know it was late at night and very cold outside? Yes, I had taken note of both of those things, having been on the road for a number of hours.

I produced my title. My bill of sale. My drivers license, and then I started a rather awkward dance of half-undressing trying to get to my passport. It was still in my money belt underneath all of my layers. (I am paranoid enough about riding solo in the States that I keep my passport and a few dollars tucked away in a safe place so that I am not left with ID if I lose my tank bag, or have my wallet stolen.). Finally I managed to produce it.

All of my paperwork was taken away and photocopied, and then my file was pulled. It was already prepared with the materials I had faxed over a few days earlier. There were no fees, and in a few minutes my title had been stamped with an export stamp, and I was on my way back to my bike to ride into Canada.

As I got back to my bike a truck towing a classic Chevy on a trailer pulled into the parking lane. The driver enquired as to the process, so I pointed him on his way. Gearing up, I pulled into the lane and flipped up my visor to talk to the Canadian Border Guard. Their cameras couldn’t see my temporary plate clearly enough so I had to get off the bike and read the plate number to the guard. Declaring the bike I was directed to ride into the next parking lot and go inside the building to take care of the rest of the paperwork.

Another waiting room that was filled with vacant chairs. Apparently late evening was a good time to be taking care of paperwork – it meant little waiting. I approached the counter, and started the paperwork process for the bike. I headed outside to verify the manufacture date from the VIN sticker. After the paperwork was completed, I was given directions for the next steps I needed to follow, and headed to the teller to pay the GST on my purchase. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that since I had been in the States for over a week I had a higher personal exemption limit which reduced the taxes I needed to pay on the bike. All in all a very simple process.

Pulling out of the parking lot I reached forward and flipped my bike into Kilometers. I found it amusing that while my speedometer and odometer changed to metric, my thermometer continued to report in degrees Farenheit.

I was wet, cold and tired and still a little over four hours from home. The VFR reported 27F as a temperature. The wind was still ferocious. And I really couldn’t see myself pitching a tent. Besides, there was nowhere in the area to set up a tent. I headed up the highway, continuing to fight the wind. I played cat and mouse with a couple of 18 wheelers. When the wind died down I picked up speed and passed them, when the winds picked up, I slowed back and was passed.

Getting tired, I stopped for gas and bought a cold drink at a convenience store. I stood inside warming up with the bike parked just outside the door. A trucker came into the store and greeted me with surprise, “You’re a woman!”.

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.”

He had noticed me riding in Montana, and had been one of the truckers I had been playing cat and mouse with. He was surprised by the distance I had come in the nasty conditions, and commented that he could really see how badly the wind was pushing me around at times. We stood and chatted for a while, and I headed back on the road. I was close enough that I was determined to reach Calgary.

Finally I saw the glow of the city lights on the horizon, and came on my final approach. Arriving home I pulled out the camera for one last photograph to document total trip distance, temperature and the time of arrival. The city is always a little warmer than the countryside.

The last day was a long haul, and had been the longest day riding of the trip. I was ready to thaw out in a warm house and park the bike for the night.

[Guest]

YEAH VICTORY!! What lousy conditions to finish in but what a journey!! I think the 'putting-more-gas-in-than-the-tank-can-hold' was awesome!! I have had to push my old CBR600RR when it stranded me due to electrical failure--you would think something with tires and less than 400lbs would be easier to push... What an awe inspiring caper!!

"Getting tired, I stopped for gas and bought a cold drink at a convenience store. I stood inside warming up with the bike parked just outside the door. A trucker came into the store and greeted me with surprise, “You’re a woman!”.

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.” ...PRICELESS!!!

Thanks Olive!! :bliss:

[carlitos92]

A great trip, great pictures, and great story. Congrats on the new(ish) bike and thanks for sharing! :fing02: