Such is life. One day, you realize, you're done being a mom. The 5 kids are self-supportive, meaning they are out of college and pushing 30 something. You've always been well taken care of (spoilt) but not taken advantage of the position of a non-working wife. You've tried the ceramic classes and art classes at the local college, you've coached enough kids sports to write a book of positive coaching and drills, then a blog is googled, an idea is presented; "I can do that and I better do it now."
I am going to Alaska. The state turns 50. I turn 50. I was born in Fairbanks and have never been. It is time to go. Cheapest means of transportation? Since I don't work, abuse of my sponsor is always at the back of my mind, being frugal is in the front. How can I get to Alaska with out punishing my husband's savings account? There's a 2006 Honda Shadow in the garage. But it's a 600cc and 100 miles to it's 2 gallon fuel tank means a lot of stopping and fuel stations to Alaska can be lacking. It wouldn't work.
Scanning craigslist, I found an inexpensive similar bike, with accessories. It's 10 years old, mileage is low, and it runs like a champ. Let the road trip begin!
Everything to do with Alaska motorcycle road trip was googled. I joined a group from Florida going to Alaska. The coordinator was deaf and taught sign language at a Florida university. He sets up a group, every year, to raise money for deaf families.
I did my own mapping, as I was to meet the group in Canada. I'm from SoCal and was aiming for my parents in North Idaho. Campgrounds were selected and some reserved. The Alaskan State Ferry was booked, opting for a tent on deck, I cancelled the stateroom. Fuel stations were calculated for a days ride of approx 350 miles. Hikes, waterfalls, lakes, attractions were marked on my map. Remember, I'm traveling on a budget. I didn't use a GPS, roads to Alaska are few, so you're not going to get lost. My husband made a map dash for me that actually was a 99 cent cookie tray attached to the inside of the windscreen with a clear plastic cover over the top, secured by magnet strips. My maps were folded to the area I was driving in and kept under the plastic cover. A desert dust devil lead me into the first Walmart for a new map book and clamps to keep the cover down, the magnets weren't enough muscle to do the job. Desert heat in July was uninviting. Why am I doing this? I learned to stop at McD's for a sweet iced tea and a wet T shirt; that brought cool for about 30 miles. Even though we have a road trip rule: no chain restaurants. McD's had what I needed.
There was so much stuff on my bike, within the first hundred miles of leaving home things were falling off. The spare fuel I had bungeed to the rear seat, jumped off and was bouncing behind the license plate. I thought the driver next to me was hitting on me, but, in fact, he wanted me to catch the gas can before it blew up! My daughter dubbed me the vagabond, as pictures declare all too colorfully. The neon vest was to be a signature cover of my backpack for all my trips. Not desiring to be a speed bump, the idea was to be seen.
I gave myself 4 weeks, more or less, and my parents the opportunity to go with me. They didn't like the idea of riding with a motorcycle group. "But,Dad, they're your age." Still, he didn't agree, so the journey wasn't mentioned again. Until June. End of July was the date set for the road trip of my life.
"You still planning that trip to Alaska?" a call came from my dad, late in June. I was. "Can we go along?"
The objective for the trip materialized. I had hoped they would join me, to fill me in on the details of the first 2 years of my life and their situations and hardships of being based in Alaska in 1959. Not set in concrete, they actually didn't decide to do the full trip till Banff, Canada. They were to follow me for the first day, to see if they physically could handle driving. Didn't really matter, the sheer adventure of the road compels my parents. My mom secretively had 2 days of clothing packed and of course, a ton of food for sandwiches and snacks. Which was perfect, we stopped at lakes and creeks, bridges and waterfalls for a half a sandwich. End of trip: we lost 10 pounds each.
They followed me from North Idaho to Haines, Alaska, where we parted ferries, they drove home and I ferried for 4 long, foggy, slow moving days. If I could of gotten off and rode inland I would have, but every stop was an island. And part of the adventure. There were many bikes on board and I talked with some. Some were too classy to associate with a vagabond older lady, I noticed their bikes and gear. I spent less on the trip and my gear then they had invested in just the rider pants and jacket. I found a friend in Sheila, my age, with her dog, Trixie. "Come up from Kansas on my '09." She said, as she puffed away on her cigarette. Very comical lady, with the drawl of a mid west accent and the toughness you'd expect from a biker chick. But she talked to me. For that I was thankful. So did Matt, from Minnesota. He rode a laden down Harley, laden with clothing he never changed into. He had the hots for the ranger that kept the ferry passengers entertained with history and fauna of the inside passage. He asked me if he would be out of his league to invite her to dinner one night. She accepted. With a great chance of sitting next to each other, they were seated behind me and I overhead the rough conversation he carried with her. Why he asked her first off if she planned on getting married, did not seem to be the attractive catch phrase I would have started with. "Do you like motorcycle road trips?" would of been my Litmus test. Could be the beginning or ending of a conversation.
We met bikers all along the trip. I noticed the gear they carried and the machine of choice some rode. All this I mentally filed for my next road trip. There would be many, I hoped.
But calls to my pathetic husband cut the drive down the California coast to the inland highway. He missed me and I could always ride the coast when ever for a short trip.
