After having a full days rest in Oregon it was time to get back on the road. I started heading southbound down Highway 101 in warm sunny weather and was looking forward to more riding along the coast. The fog was thick and it was a bit chilly near the ocean. It wasn’t long before I passed into California.

The drive continued to be beautiful until I reached Eureka, CA. This city was full of drifters and rundown buildings along the highway. It looked very seedy and I was happy that it was early enough in the day that I did not need to stop for food or accommodation. I saw drifters and pot heads mile after mile and for the first time in this entire adventure of mine I was given the finger. Some strung-out looking guy was walking along the highway and giving the finger to every passing vehicle. I did not take his finger personally and found it rather amusing.

I soon came across the “Trees of Mystery” and for a $14 fee I wondered among some of the oldest and most unusual tress in the world. This forest of trees was featured on Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Well worth the price of admission.

Onwards to “Avenue of the Giants”, a forest filled with giant Redwood trees. This was one of the coolest rides I have done.  The road is 31 miles long, featuring trees over 200 feet tall which shade most of the area making it almost fell like night in some spots. I am not sure what the speed limit is through here but I was able to do most of the 31 miles at 100 km/hr. Passing these giant tress on a windy road really gets the heart racing. I had to slow down once for a moron in a rented RV who stopped on a blind turn to mount his camera the fender. At the end of the 31 miles was a great little pub called “Avenue” where I had some fantastic chicken wings and watched a live band. The saxophone player was an older “hippie” from London Ontario who moved to California during the 60’s and never looked back. My new hippie friend told the about the “Dean Creek Resort”, told me I would “dig it” and I did. The Dean Creek Resort had a giant hot tub which provided a great spot to relax and conversation with a group of bicyclists riding from Portland to San Francisco.

I woke up early and started to head towards San Francisco where I was going to meet with Denis and Dominic, a father and son who I met in the Yukon. They were riding classic motorcycles through Alaska, we had great conversation and agreed to keep in touch.

I camped the night of September 2^nd   in a small state run park and pitched my tent near the river. It had been a beautiful, warm sunny day and camping was the perfect way to finish. Unfortunately the temperature dropped to 30 Fahrenheit (-1 Celsius) over night and I did not sleep well. It was not until morning that I realized I left the tent fly wide open, letting the cold air inside the tent.

After getting some great advice from a local about Crater Lake, I decided to head south and visit the deepest lake in the US. Crater Lake was another amazing destination. The road around offered beautiful views from far above the lake, passing through some forest but mostly staying close enough to keep the lake in view the entire time. I circled the lake three times, once going east bound just enjoying the ride, a second time also going eastbound and stopping for photos and finally the third and final time going westbound just to see a different view.

By the time evening came I really started to regret not staying for more pie back in Hampton, as all of the campgrounds and motels were full. I was getting tired, needed to rest and was going to pull over and pitch my tent in the woods somewhere. Around the next corner  I spotted a motel that had the “Vacancy” sign on and were advertising rooms for $30. Perfect, available and cheap, just what I needed.  I pulled into the parking lot and for the first time in this adventure, all 26,000 km of it, I dropped my bike. I forgot to put the kickstand down! Must have been more tired than I thought. There was no damage to the bike or to me and picking it up a fully loaded bike was no fun.  The motel owner, who looked like Elmer Fudd, came out and said “looks like you could use a room. I have one with a great view of the river”. A great view of the river it did have, but it smelled like dirty socks and I now believe it was haunted. Great, another night without sleep.

I made it to Coos Bay, Oregon where I booked myself into a respectable place for two nights. After visiting the shore and seeing the seals and sea lions relaxing on the rocks I decided that I also needed a full day of rest.

I find it easy to lose track of the days now that I don’t have to get up for work every day. I did not realize that this was a long weekend coming up until I overheard some local farmers at breakfast this morning. I was heading west towards the Oregon coast along highway 20 and decided that a crowed tourist area was not something I wanted. I needed a change of plan. Highway 20 is a long straight highway through the desert, not offering much in the way of distractions. I needed a sign.

“Coffee and Pie” was the next sign, in front of a small old town style café and enough of a distraction to make me stop. The café as filled with local ranchers and ranch hands just in from rounding up some livestock. I ordered my coffee and pie from the petite woman behind the counter and took a seat next to the locals. Friendly conversation soon started and it quickly felt like I was chatting with old friends. The pie was one of the best that I have ever tasted and when the turnovers came fresh out of the oven I just had to have one of those as well. The café suddenly emptied, back to work for the ranchers and their hired help. Only three of us were left, myself, Wayne the “flammable liquid dispensing technician” (gas jockey) and the petite woman, Rebecca, who as obviously in charge of the café.

Now that my mouth was no longer stuffed with pie I was able to contribute to the conversation a little better and answered some questions about my adventure and the places I have visited already. I mentioned my desire to do something “western”, like ride a horse, while I was in Oregon.  Before I knew it “Bell” was saddled up and I was holding the reigns. Now, I have never really ridden a horse before! I have been to a couple of “horseback riding ranches” where they put you on some old horse, make you wear a stupid helmet and you follow a lead horse around some well-worn trail –not real horseback riding. Bell was a real horse, not an old mare, and I had her all to myself with miles and miles of open fields to ride her. I was in shock, these people did not know me, there was no liability waiver to sign and I had their horse to ride for an unspecified period of time.  Riding was easy and the horse behaved herself, we rode for over an hour around the fields and not so well-worn trails. Fortunately for me Bell knew her way home.

Back at the café I had another fantastic meal, an enormous ham and cheese sandwich and best of all great conversation with Wayne and Rebecca.  I watched Rebecca work on her accounting and really wanted to offer my years of accounting expertise in an effort to contribute. After watching for a few minutes I realized two things, 1. She had things well under control and 2. My help would only slow things down. We agreed that I would come back after my trip and work as her accountant; I would be paid in pie.

As I sat listening to Wayne’s wonderful stories, impressed with this knowledge of Canada, I had a decision to make, stay for dinner or continue heading west. I found this decision difficult, not because I  wasn’t really hungry nor because I don’t know what “chicken fried beef steak” is made of but because I found Rebecca to be extremely charming. She had that country girl charm, a beautiful smile and carried herself with confidence and grace.  I knew that if I stayed for dinner, I would find an excuse to pitch my tent and then would have to order breakfast. Most likely I would end up branding cattle, learning to operate farm equipment, get fat from pie and would never reach Argentina. I regretfully got back on my motorcycle and headed westbound.

Moscow, Idaho – Hells Canyon – Vale Oregon

I spent the night of August 31^st in a town named Moscow. I went walking around looking for Red Square or the famous Saint Basils Cathedral but sadly they were nowhere to be found.   I have been to Moscow Russia many times but this place offered no resemblance. Not yet ready to give up, I went looking for the infamous bar “Night Flight”, but I struck out with this as well. I ended up at the only open restaurant I could find, a Chinese food restaurant on the main street. Chinese it was; food that remains a question.

Waking up in the morning I realize that I am now officially homeless. I sold my home last year and the lease on the apartment was renting expired last night. I live on my bike, my most important possessions fit on my bike. I was told that I have squatters rights in Newfoundland and as long as my brother does not change the code for his garage door, I should always be able to find a place to crash back in Canada. Now however I feel a much stronger desire to move forward in my journey.

I headed south down highway 95 with the intention of getting as far south as I could. Stopping in a small town called Riggins for lunch, my plans were about to change. The very attractive waitress told me about the “7 Devils Road” leading into “Hells Canyon”. How could I refuse?

The 7 Devils Road soon turned to loose gravel with patches of sand. It was a steady 21mile climb with hair pin turns and drop offs descending into canyons. The view was amazing but it took all of my focus to navigate this road. After 19 miles there was a great place to pull over for a photo, but there were 3 cows blocking my path. Cows, on the road to hell? I guess this is why the “Hot Beef Sandwich” was the special of the day back at the restaurant.  From the top of 7 Devils Road you can see all three States, Idaho, Washington and Oregon. Descending back down was as much fun and as challenging as was the climb. This detour from my original plan was well worth it, the best plans are flexible.

We finally woke up early, took hot shower at the fire station, and headed out due south for Cafayate. We went five blocks and I was hungry already so we stopped for one last salami and bread in Salta. We only had 250km to go and it was early in the day so I wasn’t too concerned about the time. At one of our stops, there was an all familiar shrine built for someone who had died in a car accident. In most of South America, when people die on the road, their families build a little shrine for them on that spot. Read the rest of the story…

I’ve really come to appreciate our form of transportation and our way of travel. I knew when we left that a motorcycle could take you places that not everyone could go and expose you to your surroundings in a unique way that not everyone gets to experience. You feel the rain, the sun, the cold, the heat and can read the road below you as if it’s your own form of brail but I had no idea the extent of that experience. You truly form a bond with your motorcycle and it’s this companionship through the elements that creates that unique experience forming life long memories. In a car a drive in the rain is rarely remembered and just seems to disappear in the back of your head with the other hundreds of rainy day drives. On a motorcycle a ride in the rain is rarely forgotten because you are experiencing it and good or bad at the time, you’re creating memories.

Erin and I will never forget the day we rode into St. Johns, NL soaking wet, cold and exhausted. We had spent the previous two days riding a portion of the Irish Loop, a section of roads spanning the Avalon Peninsula on the south east corner of Newfoundland. We had enjoyed sunshine, a beautiful coastal ride with some amazing views and best of all free camping. Standing in St. Johns the water seemed to pour off of us harder that the rain itself and we decided to pay for a campground and enjoy a hot shower. The next day with patches of blue sky trying to break through we rode over to Cape Spear, the most eastern point of Canada. I found myself enjoying these trivial moments as I stared out at the Atlantic Ocean. “This is it.” I thought to myself. “The end of the road.” Erin and I had now crossed the largest country in the world and it felt great.

Our motorcycles seem to attract attention and will often spark some kind of childish curiosity in people who see them. Even if they don’t catch a glimpse of the licence plate they know that we plan to travel the way we are loaded. This is another great attribute to travelling on a motorcycle that you would rarely get driving. I’ve explained our trip to well over a hundred people and I love it every time. I’m living my dream and it feels great to share it with people. They seem so excited for us they will often offer their assistance in some shape or form even if it’s only advice or recommendations.  The people of Newfoundland take this “roadside manor” to a whole new level. Erin and I have received more acts of kindness and hospitality in our 3 weeks in Newfoundland then I would have ever imagined. We have been sheltered, fed, taken out of the rain and given a hot shower, toured around town by car, escorted to amazing camping spots, entertained around a campfire, given clothes and have been loaded up with food for the road. The people of Newfoundland have gone out of their way to help us and have truly touched our hearts. I realised when I started writing this that I could fill pages and pages with the amazing stories of kindness we received from our new friends in Newfoundland. We experienced so much in our short time in Newfoundland that perhaps some of it is better left for the pages of a book.

The riding and the scenery of Newfoundland continued to amaze us as we rode west for the first time since the beginning of our travels. We slowed down and enjoyed our time at the world famous Gros Morne National Park where we were able to set up camp and enjoy a short hike. It felt good to be active and the narrow trail led us to a secluded beach covered in thin flat stones that sounded like cracking shells when walked over them. One of the wonders of Gros Morne is the former fjords of West Brook Pond and Erin and I had a chance to explore the beauty of these towering cliffs. They were a magnificent sight to see, however Erin and I both agreed afterwards that after seeing the Canadian Rockies we were desensitized and did not find them as mind blowing as many of the people around us did.

Since our first day in Newfoundland people have been talking about the icebergs in St. Anthony so with hopes of spotting some ancient floating ice we headed north. As we followed the coast towards St. Anthony the weather took a turn for the worst and the Northern Peninsula was engulfed in fog. With no chance of spotting icebergs in a dense blanket of fog a last minute change of plans put us on a ferry over to Labrador. I’m sure the ferry was twice my age but at $23 for both of us and the bikes the 90 minute ferry ride seemed like a steal of a deal. The landscape of Labrador was fantastic and seemed to encompass all my favorite parts of Canada. With its vast spaces and lack of people it was a perfect place to explore on a motorcycle. However our stay was short lived due to the overwhelming amount of tiny vicious blood thirsty swarms of flies. I know it sounds crazy but I would happily take mosquitoes over these wicked little flies. They surrounded you by the hundreds filling your nose, ears and mouth eating at your flesh and driving you insane. After one night we made a mad dash back to the ferry not even stopping to make breakfast.

When we arrived back in Newfoundland our Labrador detour had worked perfectly, the fog was gone and the sun was shining. We raced off towards St. Anthony and just as we entered the city limits you see them… Like the stars scattered across the night sky the icebergs filled the bays surrounding St. Anthony. As any good adventure seeker would do I ran down to the shore to capture and devour my very own piece of iceberg.

We spent the next three days camped in the nearby town of St. Lunaire and with a front row seat we watched the icebergs deteriorate from pieces the size of a house to nothing more than ice cubes on our shore. These icebergs had traveled as part of a massive ice island that had broken off a glacier in Greenland and had spent the last year and a half traveling down to Newfoundland. As the island floats off the coast of Newfoundland pieces are breaking off and filling many of the northern bays and some of those pieces measure over a kilometre long. I found it pretty cool that I ate potentially millions of year old ice that traveled all the way from Greenland to my mouth. People that have lived in this area their whole lives said they have never seen the abundance of icebergs they have this year and especially this late in the season.

In between our iceberg watching we managed to fit in some short rides around the area. We rode up to L’Anse aux Meadows, a National Historic site that preserves and re-enacts a Viking settlement. It was one of the more interesting and well presented historic sites we have visited and one that I would recommend visiting. We squeezed in another ride with our new friend and host in St. Lunaire and managed to turn him into an adventure rider as he led us on a rough gravel road into an Ecological Preserve riding his 1976 Harley Davidson. Erin and I really enjoyed our time in St. Lunaire and like any place you feel comfortable it was hard to leave.

Even as we made our way down to Port aux Basque to catch the ferry, Newfoundland seemed to find a way to keep us there longer. It was as if the island knew that I didn’t want to leave but after a final night of fireside hospitality we were given a handful of snacks for the ferry and we made a run for it. The weather was perfect so we rode solid, no stops for 300kms, all the way to the ferry terminal and purchased two tickets for the next ferry. As we sat in the terminal I had a weird feeling almost like butterflies in my stomach. It felt wrong to leave Newfoundland, a place I had so easily fell in love with but at the same time I was excited to finally head south and start exploring the United States. Erin and I would like to thank all our new friends in Newfoundland who made us feel so at home and we look forward to the day we can visit with you all again.

Coeur D’Alene is listed in the book “1000 places to see before you die, so I decided to make a point of stopping and checking it out. It wasn’t worth it. Coeur D’Alene is a nice town on a great lake, and that’s all. I could have died without seeing this place and still died a happy man.  I walked around, had an overpriced hotdog and checked out the boardwalk. Things I could have lived without.

However, the road around the lake, highway 97, was another story! I get over how amazing the roads have been over the past few days.  Highway 97 hugged the shore of Coeur D’Alene Lake, passed over some mountains and much to my excitement had few barriers preventing someone from flying right off some of those hair pin turns.

An excellent couple of days of riding, life is good.