The Open Road

Seattle to the Yukon Border. A solo girls dream of adventure comes true.

There were times on this trip I nearly met my maker. After only a year and a half of riding my own, I made a map out of my kitchen, and would stare any chance I got at the adventure that awaited me.

Hundreds of miles of gravel and mud, a time where I avoided tagging a wolf, a time where a semi came half an inch from running me down. But I’m still here to tell the tale.

Starting out at the border in a storm, I was sure they wouldn't let a heathen like me in to their country. Sure enough I got the "have a nice day" and I was on my way into the most adventurous run yet. A solo ride up the Stewart Cassier Highway and down the AlCan. I had packed a few small canisters for extra gas and wrapped my gear in a tarp. A map in my bag and a fever in my brain, I set out to do this despite the pressure to turn tail and run. There were men that had been riding there whole lives who said they would never do it.

I hope you aren't lonely without me. I'm out.

Setting forth.
August 14th, 2009.

Split off from another biker friend in Prince George I set out on the 16 to head as far as I could that day. The trip had started and I was in high spirits as the sun burned my exposed wrists. My mind became quiet as so many bikers know, and the sun was setting.

It was time to drink a cold one and reflect on the journey.

I like beer, a good cold beer at the end of the day is a nice time to reflect on my own helmet reflections. Stocking up at the only liquor store I could find, and cursing the fact that they don't sell beer in gas stations, I spied a dirt biker checking me out as he waiting for the light to turn. Sure enough he sped up and slid his tires next to me.

"How's it going eh?"

He took of his helmet to reveal a chiseled face on a sweet body. "Great" I said, "On my way to the AlCan". We chatted it up for several minutes and I couldn't stop staring at the guy. I asked him about camping in the area and he invited me to stay at his house. I didn't hesitate.

He fired up the grill and I handed him a beer from my saddlebags. We had a nice time getting to know eachother. He was a firefighter and ex-model. Of’ course he was. At the end of the evening he asked if I wanted to stay in his bed. I shrugged and said "No, your roommates bed sounds good". Damn that eve. If only it were two days later.

In the morning I was showered and had my gear packed on as he cooked breakfast, said our goodbyes and cursed the curse for not allowing me to enjoy such an amazing man.

After passing up the firefighter boy, just before the first bad storm on the 37.

I would need to buy another gas can, realizing that I only had a 100 mile range and 2 small liter cans would not make it - another bikers doubt on my gas range was a good head check - It would save me several times. I'd have to strap on that extra weight on top of my tent and sleeping pad, keeping the gas can upright so that I didn't have to unstrap the bike every time I filled up, and so that gas would not leak out onto my gear.

That afternoon I hit the 37, otherwise known as the Stewart Cassier Highway and the road less traveled up to Alaska. This was the highlight and the fearful road of the journey. I was not afraid of the AlCan, the 37 scared the piss out of me. There are 3 sections of gravel and dirt that can run 20 miles long.

It started storming and I stepped into my full flight suit rain gear.

I was going and nothing was going to stop me.

At dusk I pulled into Bell Lodge after 153 miles without a gas station and was willing to let them jack me for the $200.00 room. The lodge was amazing, complete with king size bed and wood burning fireplace in my room. I sprawled out on the bed and decided to hit the laundry as I wouldn't have this opp for about another week. Nor would I want to bother with it.

In the laundry room two ladies came in, part of the cleaning staff. They were amazed that this woman was traveling the 37 and headed to Alaska without fear, and alone. I paused at this. They handed me a beer from their Koakane aprin beer holder and showed me the back room where they did the towels. They quickly took my laundry, put it on a quick wash and added some downy and crazy solvents. My clothes smelled so good. "Good enough for a bear to eat" I thought.

We snuck in to the hot tub with some of the other staff and partied until the early morning. Off to my room, I packed my clean clothes up and tried to light the firewood in the wood burning stove. No luck. Great. I can't even light dry firewood in a resort. That was not a confidence booster. Must remember newspaper and how would I get dry kindling on the bike.

In the morning the cleaning girls sat on my bike and wished me well. Full nasty rain suit on, I was going to conquer this road. I'm not the type of person who can be swayed with a "You can't do that". Granted, my 1986 Suzuki Intruder was weighted down, top heavy and sometimes leaked gas out the carbs...But I was going. If I broke down, I could just put up a thumb I thought.

I mounted the video camera to my bar mount, started taking video shots, and was off for the real road.

The road was ravaging, continuing to dip me in and out of these hard bumps, and rattling everything on the bike. Any time I could find a place to pull over I did, checked my gear, had a roll your own smoke, and got back on the bike. To the dirt road I go.

Half the day in the road became incredibly shaky, just then my camera broke off it's mount, flew at my body. I grabbed that camera with my left hand, my right hand never left the throttle nor did I vary speed. Threw the camera in my crotch as I pulled to the right. A cliff straight down and truckers speeding down the highway, shoved the camera in the bags and got the hell outta there. Well, no more video shots of this road.

Clear skies again on the Stewart Cassier, half way through the second gravel section.

Just down the road I spotted the color change. Black to brown. This was it.
I down shifted to second and hit the dirt. This was not dirt, it was mud. The storms from the last two days had turned gravel and mud to dirt. I'm not turning back.
The first stretch of were my baby steps into the entire trip. 10 kilmoters of mud at steep grades and curves. I thought for sure the bike would dump, with all that heavy gear on and a trucker would come round the corner and flatten me. I kept the intruder up right and bombed out to the asphalt. "Fuck ya I did it".

I was getting hungry and because I'd been so scared off of having food on my trip, I had no supplies. Must keep going. This would be the theme of the whole trip.

Anorexic biker.

Another great run of asphalt I saw the brown again, this time it would not be so easy. The mud was sliding my ride back and forth and creating panic in my head. No amount of Neko Case in my helmet would calm my fears. Shoulders tense for about 30 kilometers I made it out. There was not one place to pull over and I was craving a cigarette, a campsite and an end of the day beer.

No, must keep going.

Hunger beyond hunger.

Back on the tarmac I found a pull out, rolled a cigarette and thought about how close I was to the Alcan. Snapped a few shots with the digital I had saved as it came flying off the bike, complete with mount still attached but snapped at the bar connection, I headed on.

Almost to the Alcan. The scenery opens up and I stop for a smoke.

I looked at my tank map and thought, maybe there were only two spots of dirt, maybe the transportation site was wrong. Nope, here we go again. The flagger lady that stopped me let me know that alot of bikes hit the dirt here, and to be careful. "But when the boys see you, you'll be just fine", with a wink she said we would be getting the go fairly soon.

All my leathers on as I swatted at giant bugs that just swarmed me. I was jealous of the cars behind me with their food and windows, free of bugs and hunger pains.

Getting around the mud and truckers on the 37.

I got the slow signal and headed out, sliding sliding sliding, I never made it out of second gear through that 30 kilometer stretch. Is that....is it? It's asphalt. Out on the road I threw the intruder into 5th and bombed out. Found a spot to pull out, rolled a celebratory cigarette and thought "I did it!" The most challenging road a cruiser could do, on her own, YES.

Soon after I saw a highway sign - Alaska Hwy: 33km

FUCK YA.

Reaching the AlCan, the highest and lowest day.

This was the highest point of my trip, I snapped a photo raising my hand at that sign. I did it. Dropped in my spare gas, closed the tank, rolled and lit a smoke. The gas had gotten on my sleeve and it went up in flames. Great. I came up to the Yukon to light myself on fire. It was minor but fairly stupid. You have gas all over your hands.

At this moment, I was the most sane I would be that day.

The rest of the day would turn to a very dark and insane time.

I hit Upper Liard where I overheard "Liard Hot Springs are just 120 away". I thought about stopping for the night after stocking up on a six pack and some jack daniels at the only liquor store for hundreds of miles. I looked at the sun, the sun winked at me. I would do it. I have enough gas to get to Liard, I did not flip over my map that had the mileage penned on it. I'll just bomb it there.

The worst mistake of my life.

I reached Watson Lake and realized I was too tired, and it was getting dark. Saw a bar with camping. GREAT. I walked behind the bar to see what this RV park looked like. A falling apart single wide, no campers there, and a picnic table next to a garbage bin. "I'm not staying at the rape trailer".

The leering men and toothless drunks got me to fear levels I've never felt before.
I had to leave, trust my instinct, and get the fuck out of Watson Lake.

Sign Post forest. Yukon Territory.

I will ride on, I have enough gas and determination. This is when riding hungry and solo goes terribly wrong.

I'm riding, what I think is the 60 miles, chasing the sun like dracula chasing the dawn. Nightblind by nature, I know I cannot ride at night, especially on the AlCan. But I've gone this far, keep going.

I stop at a gas station, and think, wait...there's no where to camp here, I'll just head on. This station had fuel...I ignored it keep going.

I used my brights for the first time, complete darkness and mist. I spot a mangy dog with giant paws off to the side eyeing my tires. I slow down, and get ready to gun it if it attacks. Blew past him right at a good time. A few seconds off and I would not have been able to correct the situation.

Sickened by the madness, I roll on the throttle and see a sign for gas. Yes...I am the luckiest girl alive. I would have paid hundreds of dollars for fuel and a hotel at this point. Boarded up. Out of business. No gas.

My mind sinks lower until I spot a garage off to the left with a light on. Surely they have gas and will take pity on a gal on her bike. I roll in through deep dark gravel and no one is home.

I throw on the rain gear to combat the sleet but the heated gear won't plug in anymore. Am terrified my leathers will get wet and stay that way for days in this cold. I keep rolling, fueled only by the madness.

A few minutes down the road I see a sign for fuel and RV camping. Holy fuck. Is this going to be open. Am in desperate need at this point. Like a crackhead looking for a fix. I need a tent site and fuel. I see RV's YES! Missing the turn out I spot a semi with full trailer tailgating me. Playing tag with me about 2 feet off my bumper. Mind you, this is 20km hour zone and he is pissed at me. I'm not even a speed bump to him.

I pass the RV park because I'm night-blind. Shit. Ok. A turn out on the left, I'll get this trucker off my ass and set up camp and complete this crazy day. I turn on my signal and head for the left. Just then I see headlights blazing in my mirrors. I chill hits my body. This is it. This is how I go down. The trucker blows past me as I correct to the right and see the metal bubbles about an inch from my shield.

I come out of it. I'm alive.

The Yukon Border. Check!

I need to make a life affirming transformation, I need food. This is the darkest of moments. There is no one here and I really need another person to touch me. I've never had such down luck with getting laid in my life.

I set up a tent in a field and start to shiver. At this moment I think it would be nice to have the ability to release with a good cry. I'm not the kind of girl that cries. I lost that ability somewhere around 12 years old, it's a blessing and a curse.
The release I do know - is how to pick up some strange. Judging by the RV campers with their sleeping families, that won’t be happening. I am truly alone and can’t rely on my typical go to patterns.

I crack open a beer as I'm huddled in my tent, staring off at the green nylon lit up by a flashlight I realize; that was not a dog I almost hit on the AlCan. That was a wolf.

I'm wishing my boot knife was a gun and realizing how far into the wilderness I had gone with little research but a map and determination.

After shivering most of the night I wake up and pay for my infiltrated tent site, fill all the gas tanks and head out down the AlCan. I've got to slow it down. I need to eat. There should be food at the lodge in Liard 30 miles down the road. The thought of food now sickens me, but I know the madness is largely from the lack of food.

I see a herd of Bison on the road. I blow past them and hit the hot springs. The lodge is closed. Boards across the entrance are my nightmare - no gas. How can you be closed? You were supposed to be my source of fuel for bike and body.

Endless roads. No humans.

I need fuel and a meal. Always fill up your spare cans. Always.

Liard Hot Springs was a major factor for this trip, I decided to slow it down, soak, and stay for a day. Set up the tent, got my suit out and headed down the trail. The trail broke open to a steamy river, giant ferns and a redwood deck. This was it.

Stepping down the stairs into the river I felt the day before melt away and almost burn off. The heat was shedding off a week on the road of loneliness, fever, madness, hunger, heartache and the need to flee melted off with every wave of heat. This is why I'm here.

Liard Hot Springs - AlCan

A trucker who struck up a conversation with me at the RV Park came by my site looking for me. I declined to accompany him back to the road crew camp. I love solo rides, and think, even as a woman you can do anything you want to. But I can't willingly get into this guys rig and go to a work camp to eat, even though I need it like a starving patient. And even to get laid, but you just can't trust it. See ya trucker.

I laid down for a nap, and prairie dogged my head out the tent at the sound of rumbling. Harley pipes. For sure. I know that sound.

I threw on my only pair of worn and muddy jeans, strapped on the boot knife and met another biker. Yes, another biker. The first I'd seen camping out here. He had a radio in hand and was giving directions.

Sure enough here comes his wife with the travel trailer. She was super nice and hot. Maybe they will feed me. My mouth was watering as the grill was cookin and I shared some vodka with them. Sure enough, they fed me corn, chicken and potatoes. We got tipsy at the picnic table til it was dark. It was hard for me to eat but I kept it down, and they probably saved me from another day of madness from hunger beyond hunger.

Another soak and I was on down the road in the morning. I'm riding the AlCan now.

I'm doing this.

Following the electric wires home.

What can be worse than what I had been through?

Let me tell you something about the AlCan;
The construction is constant. There are reasons they have camps out there for the workers - you can make it in to work, but you can't make it out. These workers are not professionals. They are just makin a living on holding a flag and throwing gravel over holes - A nightmare for a biker. The stuff they put on a road would take out a car. They don't even bother putting a roller over it.

So I'm rollin down on the throttle on a high and I spot an imperfection in the road. FUCK. Down shift as fast as I can and roll onto the gravel filled holes, patches upon patches, and then asphalt, and then more patches, this goes on for hundreds of miles. There is luckily no one in my rear views, nor is there anyone coming in. This is complete loneliness, darkness, and grey. I'm quite sure that at any of these turns I'll slide the bike over a cliff. And that's it. No one will see me go over and my body will be discovered months from then.

I'm one with death and absolute life at this moment. I may end it out here.

My dog tags will identify me. Neko Case will be the last voice I hear. Not really a bad ending.

Somehow, I make it to Fort Nelson and pay for the hotel and strip off the clay riddled gear, untangle my long blond hair from it's braid and step into the hot shower.

Emaciated and skeleton like body in the steamy mirror, I am no longer myself as I know it.

In the morning I want to get it all behind me.

Storm verses girl. I'll take you on.

Truckers coming towards me spraying up gravel, water and mud, covering me - suit - and face shield. Using one arm to steer and the other to constantly wipe my faceshield I ride for hours like this. Spirits are broken and if I could cry, I would. The Intruder is solid and needs an oil change badly, but does not falter, even with another 100 pounds of gear packed high on top.

I pop my head up. Sun break ahead. I see it, and ride like a bat outta hell, the hell I've been in. I spot some bikers ahead. They wave me to pass them. Fuck you, I don't want to pass you. I need a comrade. I decide to stop and get gas, every gas station I stop. Even if you think you can go on, stop, I've learned. My only comrades I was riding behind kept going.

Full suit on and helmet the attendant get's a stunned look on his face when I take my helmet off to reveal long blond hair as I shake it out and run my fingers through.

He thought I was a man, had a good chuckle, and took my picture for me. I stood in the golden sun for a few minutes, had a smoke and realized how ironic it was that they sold fireworks and not beer. You can sell explosives next to a propane tank, but a cold frosty beverage is out of the question.

After another bad storm. The gas station attendant is surprised to see a woman under the gear. He snaps a photo and we had a good laugh.

I ditched my soggy winter gear for leathers, cleaned off the mosquitoes, and rolled on it. Sun as energy and gas in my tank - my spirits lift, I feel good for the first time in days. Am in desperate need of oil change and is hard to get anyone to help lift the bike up to check my oil level. It is now black sludge when I see it. Fuck.

Knew a girl in Dawson Creek, maybe she will know a gal that has a garage for me to drain some oil into.

On the way there found an ATV shop next to a subway sandwich joint. I need to eat as much as I need oil. Let's try it. I strolled in and finally, someone was interested in what I was doing. Asked them about draining some oil and did that have any non synthetic 10W40. Yes they did but would only charge me 30 bucks with filter, go have lunch, we will fix you up. The sun was out and my luck was changing. I ate only a few bites and texted my loved ones back home. I'm alive and eating a bit, I have survived it.

Back at the shop they all wished me well, checked my tires and I was back on the road in 25 minutes.

Beaverlodge Alberta. Gettin an oil change and lunch.

Bombed on to the gals house in Dawson Creek and we hit the strip bar. Never been to a canadian strip bar. I walked in as a target until they saw the kerchief, tattoos and bike key. They leered but need not follow me around. The men toss loonies at the strippers in an attempt to hit them on the ass cheek and sometimes the eye. It's violent and a site to see. Saddened. The women’s movement has not hit Canada like the States. Am beginning to love my country and even love my fellow feminist riders even more.

Out of Dawson I headed out towards Jasper. Spirits and energy level so low. More storms. So many dark days of rain and cold had beaten me down. Stopped and got a hotel as a storm came in at Hinton. Smoking room just grabbed a few things off my bike and sludged up to floor three. Oh, where all the truckers are. Eyeing me I tried to act tough and just get into my room to deadbolt the door. No lock. Just a chain. FUCK ME RUNNIN.

I spent that night locked in my room, with a knife at my bedside and bolted the moment the storm broke.

Jasper Banff Highway a sight to see, could have done that road a hundred times over. It was cold as I passed the ice field and started the shivers, but an amazing view of jade waters and giant cliffs topped with glaciers got me going. I was hitting the home stretch to my homeland. I had done it and was meeting bikers from Seattle soon.

Banff Jasper Highway - British Columbia

At Radium Hot Springs the first Seattle biker showed up. He was shocked at my condition and it reminded him of a skeleton. Emaciated and worn, I'm sure I looked like a wreck, yet I hadn't wrecked.

That was the first time I had been touched in what felt like years. A hug from a comrad. I was alive. I had done it. I was here. Let's get to the States. We both agreed.

Fuck Canada.

Found a campsite near the border and another biker from Seattle to meet us. I tell them about my adventure around the campfire. Whiskey and beer and my homeland is 50 miles away.

At the border; I see the giant American flag, prairie lands, sunshine, and a sign
"Welcome to the United States of America".

I made it. I'm back in the land of the free and home of the brave. The border agent was interested in what I had been doing.

Fascination of girl on a Motorcycle. Yep, I was home.

Through the border with a big biker hug at the next stop, my heart sunk with that touch - an amazing connection.

It wasn't until that moment with another biker that I realized. I had conquered. I was here, a hug in hot leathers. I felt the blood in my veins get warmer.

I still have six days off. We decide to hit Montana and head back to the coast from there.

Back in the States; if Easy Rider was done with a girl and boy instead of Fonda and Hopper – that would be this trip.

Two bikes parked by a river, laying my head in a meadow as a hand strokes my hair away from my face, my head rests on the green grass, talking over the fire, beers and a bar of soap in a lake, rolling a cigarette, watching the pink sky in Glacier after the Sun Road.

Going to the Sun Road. Glacier National Park.

A doctor biker at this point tells me I need a feeding tube. From looking in the mirror, I believe him. My eyes are sunken in, my rib cage is showing, and I've almost fainted several times loading my gear on. We decide on mexican food. Uh uh. One taco down and I'm looking for the bathroom to stick my finger down my throat. There's a line. Dry heaves I decide we need a drug store. I grab some pepto, peel off my sweaty leathers and proceed to pass out at a roadside park, waking up only to chug some hot pink.

I'm a hot mess. I am told.

Anorexic Biker. I've shed 15 pounds by then.

Recovered, we rolled the throttles on into Idaho - Land of rivers, gas stations and skipping rocks near camp.

More miles of jet black pavement, I showed my roadside lover Grand Coulee Dam and the red rocks along the water.

Before heading home. One last sunset.

One last time curled up under a tree that morning – staring out at the giant rock formations, we knew the end of our time together was nearing.

Views of abandoned barns, tractors and combines as we approached our fork in the road. A melancholy goodbye to my roadside lover, we split off to our lives as they were before the Montana ranges and pink sky.

I slowed down to take the view of my home city approaching across the bridge - sailboats, sparkling water and the emerald city beyond.

Twisting the deadbolt and through my front door, I threw the bags down and sprawled out on my bed - smiling from ear to ear.

My little Suzuki and I had pulled it off. I was alive in every sense of the word.

They will tell you not to go. They will tell you a woman cannot do it.

Prove them wrong.

Solo ride to the Yukon - August 2009

If you are wondering why I look so happy in all these pictures, it's because I was having the time of my life. Despite the challenges, I got through them, and was smiling at the end of every storm.