Tales from a Trip to Banff
Dances With Bikers
>In Burns, Oregon, the gas station attendant warned Hesh about pumping
>his own gas. Seems there's a law against "self-service" in Oregon, so
>you have to let the attendant hand you the pump nozzle, else they're
>likely to "tear you a new asshole," as he so poetically put it.
So that's what the deal was with all those "MiniServe" signs in place of
the usual "SelfServe" signs. I guess national parks are exempt from
state law, because when I filled up in Crater Lake N.P., it was
self-serve at the side of the building, then drive around front and walk
inside to pay. I guess they don't have to worry about drive aways since
both park exits are controlled. And when I gassed up in Lakeview, I
thought the guy was just being friendly when he handed me the nozzle as
he reset the pump with a key.
Looks like Utah's booze laws have nothing on Oregon's gas laws. :-)
So what's the point of "MiniServe" anyways?
--
Blaine Gardner @ Evans & Sutherland 580 Arapeen Drive, SLC, Utah 84108
blga...@javelin.sim.es.com uunet!javelin.sim.es.com!blgardne BIX: blaine_g
DoD #46 My other motorcycle is a Quadracer. FJ1200 "The carpool"
"I didn't know Fisher-Price made luggage" "Who makes that luggage, Rubbermaid?"
Phil Stone
At the Joust, Hesh reminded me that he and Bob Palin were leaving
for the Jasper/Banff area of the Canadian Rockies on the next Saturday.
Would I like to join them? All the "important" things I had to do
leapt to mind, only to be beaten savagely by a primal desire to take
a nice, long motorcycle trip. I told him I'd go if I could get
organized in time.
Five mornings later, I sat in a parking lot in Cordelia (don't bother
trying to find it on a map, but it's one of those Places from Which
Good Rides Start), waiting for Bob and Hesh. The weather was perfect,
my bike was tuned, and I had already forgotten about everything in
the world except for hitting the road.
For nine days, we explored some of the most beautiful places on the
continent. To relate the entire trip in detail would be a major
bandwidth crime, and picking a coherent narrative out of a blur of
sensory-overloaded memory would be impossible anyway. So with the
renowned kind indulgence of this group, I'll relate a fragmentary
series of anecdotes from the trip, spread over several postings.
I'll keep the subject headings consistent, so you can easily kill the
thread if it bores you. Warning: there will be absolutely no
occurrences of the word "spooge" in this series. Except for that one.
Phil Stone (ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov | ...ames!eos!phil)
'83 R80ST DoD #95
Phil Stone
by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
On the first night out, we camped in the mountains near Adin,
California. This part of the state seems empty, yet so full of terrain
and woods to explore. On the morning ride to breakfast in Alturas, my
head kept snapping around to gaze down some tantalizing dirt road
disappearing into the forest or hills to an assured DP adventure. I
reminded myself that the trip was about pavement, a great deal of
pavement going to one of the most spectacular places on the planet.
The dirt could wait.
Rte. 395 through the high desert of Oregon is an excellent place to
check out the state of one's machine. Strictly for reasons of
mechanical prudence, we spent a good portion of the morning de-carbonizing
our combustion chambers and verifying that the top regions of our
speedometers were in good working order.
In Burns, Oregon, the gas station attendant warned Hesh about pumping
his own gas. Seems there's a law against "self-service" in Oregon, so
you have to let the attendant hand you the pump nozzle, else they're
likely to "tear you a new asshole," as he so poetically put it.
Phil Stone
by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
Near dusk of the second night, we rolled into Enterprise, Oregon, just
west of Hell's Canyon. After slamming a decent garlic pizza, we asked
the waitress if she knew where we could camp. "Just up the road a ways,"
she said, "there are lots of woods where you can camp." In the dark,
we set off "up the road a ways."
As we gained altitude, the night air grew cold. The first sign said
"Construction Ahead." The road surface turned to loose, rutted gravel.
The second sign had a picture of a deer. The third suggested huge trucks
hurtling out of control. It seemed as though we had been inserted,
Tron-like, into the middle of some sadistic motorcycle video game called
"Death in the Dark."
Ignoring the "Volvos" sign, we searched for one that said "Campground."
We didn't find one; a glowing Coleman lantern out in the middle of
nowhere was as close as we got. I rode up to this light source like a
moth to flame, and tried to appear as unmenancing as I could on a
motorcycle coming out of the dark in the Oregon wilderness. The two
fellows near the lantern seemed unconcerned about the possibility of
serial killers on motorcycles and said they wouldn't mind at all if we
camped nearby - "just watch out for the canyon."
After a good night's sleep, I crawled from the tent, walked a few
hundred feet through the woods, and all but fell into Joseph Canyon, a
small hole in the ground a few miles wide and perhaps a thousand feet
deep. I reverently (and carefully) pissed into the void as I marveled
at the landscape's scale and beauty. Back at the camp, gear was struck
and packed in short order, hastened by the familiar morning urge to be
on the road again, and we set off on our third day.
In this part of the world, the Snake, Swamp, and Joseph Rivers torture
the land into extraterrestial-style canyons. It is nothing less than
Biker Heaven, though there are extremely heavy penalties for missing a
turn - the fickle force of traction is all that stands between one and
a quick trip to terminal velocity. Often, a distractingly beautiful
view would force me to stop my bike and gaze for awhile; the road
demanded *undivided* attention.
The switchbacks descending into Clarkston, Washington were covered with
what I can only describe as butter cream asphalt. The road was so smooth
and the tight corners were so perfectly banked, it was easy to forget
that I was on a bike. My body seemed to be braking, banking and accelerating
in mid-air just above the road. I'd compare the sensation to flying,
but it would have to be extreme nap-of-the-earth flying to duplicate the
sense of speed and harmony with the landscape that I felt on those curves.
We crossed the Snake River into Lewiston, Idaho (Clarkston - Lewiston,
get it?). The town was waking up slowly to what would be a warm and
clear Labor Day. At breakfast, we agreed that fifty miles of perfect
road and fantastic terrain were not a bad way to start the day.
or current resident
>ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
>>In Burns, Oregon, the gas station attendant warned Hesh about pumping
>>his own gas. Seems there's a law against "self-service" in Oregon, so
>>you have to let the attendant hand you the pump nozzle, else they're
>>likely to "tear you a new asshole," as he so poetically put it.
>
>So what's the point of "MiniServe" anyways?
>--
To provide an endless source of debate during election/referendum time
and to provide peeve fodder. (After sales tax debates get tired.)
Mini serve is supposed to contrast with Full Serve, where you (might) get
your windshield washed (not the helmet, please!) and your oil checked,
for a slight, ahem, premium in terms of gas price. The miniserve is
usually a few pennies cheaper. Full service is a joke for cyclists,
natch.
The Question is, is gas cheaper in states where self-service exists? I
haven't noticed much of a discount in neighboring Washington, but I
seldom need to gas up there.
I also sometimes wonder about being allowed the "favor" of spilling gas
on my own m/c (in the present Oregon system). I definately _care_ more
than the attendant, but I often think that [a] s/he is pumping gas all
day and should be pretty good by now and [b] I don't exactly have the
best angle, trying to pump gasoline while sitting on the bike. (I know,
get off the bike...)
--
Bradlee T. LaBroad read & write & ride & juggle
br...@tekig10.pen.tek.com It's a tough job but
BMW R90/6 DoD#389 OdO#65000 somebody gets to do it.
RobD DoD#176
ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
> From: ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone)
> Subject: Re: Tales from a Trip to Banff
>
> Near dusk of the second night, we rolled into Enterprise, Oregon, just
> west of Hell's Canyon. After slamming a decent garlic pizza, we asked
> the waitress if she knew where we could camp. "Just up the road a ways,"
> she said, "there are lots of woods where you can camp." In the dark,
> we set off "up the road a ways."
Welcome to Oregon, where men are men and campgrounds are where you make 'em.
>
> As we gained altitude, the night air grew cold. The first sign said
> "Construction Ahead." The road surface turned to loose, rutted gravel.
> The second sign had a picture of a deer. The third suggested huge trucks
> hurtling out of control. It seemed as though we had been inserted,
> Tron-like, into the middle of some sadistic motorcycle video game called
> "Death in the Dark."
Sounds like a nice evening ride...;-)
>
> Ignoring the "Volvos" sign, we searched for one that said "Campground."
Ahh, city boys....
> We didn't find one; a glowing Coleman lantern out in the middle of
> nowhere was as close as we got. I rode up to this light source like a
> moth to flame, and tried to appear as unmenancing as I could on a
> motorcycle coming out of the dark in the Oregon wilderness. The two
> fellows near the lantern seemed unconcerned about the possibility of
> serial killers on motorcycles and said they wouldn't mind at all if we
> camped nearby - "just watch out for the canyon."
No surprise, they were probably locals out for a nice relaxing evening
of spotlighting...had you been "bad-ass biker pirates" they would've
just introduced you to Joseph Canyon that night...
Glad you had a nice time passing thru, enjoying the report very much, next time
you're in the neighborhood, get the word out...there's a half dozen Denizens
round about who'd be pleasured to ride a ways with ya...
Rob
DoD#176
oh, and remember....%^)
Phil Stone
>In article <1991Sep17.2...@eos.arc.nasa.gov>, (Phil Stone) writes:
>> Ignoring the "Volvos" sign, we searched for one that said "Campground."
>
>Ahh, city boys....
Hey, I represent that remark! Actually, to be more specific, we were
searching for a sign that said "Campground with SHOWERS." Failing that,
we just wanted to pitch tents somewhere that wasn't in the middle of a
herd of cows (this was range country). It was kind of hard to tell in
the dark...thank goodness for friendly locals.
>Glad you had a nice time passing thru, enjoying the report very much, next time
>you're in the neighborhood, get the word out...there's a half dozen Denizens
>round about who'd be pleasured to ride a ways with ya...
>
>Rob
>DoD#176
Thanks, Rob. And I do intend to return to that particular part of the
world for further exploration sometime. I'd like to see Hell's Canyon,
and maybe continue on to the Lolo Pass. Ah, so many roads, so little
vacation time!
Phil Stone
by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
We made it into Canada by the late afternoon of the third day. The
border crossing was uneventful, as we were lucky enough to get through
one day before most Canadian goverment workers walked off the job.
We had seen a good portion of western Idaho that day, and it made a
very favorable impression, especially Coeur D'Alene and the trip up
through the panhandle. The mountains were getting Rocky-sized, and
thick and fragrant pine forests lined our route.
The friendly town of Cranbrook, British Columbia, was considerate
enough to allow us to camp by a babbling little stream, right off
the downtown district. Overdue hot showers were most welcome; refreshed,
we headed for a local pub, where Bob and I hoped to catch the 49'ers
on Monday night football. It was not easy to find a pub open on Labor
Day (I was surprised to learn that the Canadians celebrate this holiday,
too), but we finally did. Just before we went in, I paused a moment to
enjoy the alpenglow lighting up the distant Rockies; the next day's
ride would bring us to those peaks, and I looked forward to it.
The heathens inside were watching hockey, but being tactful visitors
(i.e., we had no desire to get beaten and fed to the local moose), we
waited until the fight, er, hockey game, was over before asking to switch
to the infinitely more civilized football game.
The next morning dawned clear and crisp. A trace of frost was on the
ground. After breakfast and a little money-changing at the bank, we
set off for the National Parks of the Canadian Rockies.
By a little after noon, we reached Radium Hot Springs, the southwestern-
most entrance into the Park system. Four adjacent parks straddle the
Continental Divide. On the B.C. side, Yoho and Kootenay National Parks
(we were entering the latter) line up north and south, respectively.
To the east of the Divide, in the province of Alberta, lie Jasper National
Park to the north, and Banff National Park to the south.
We stopped and soaked for a while at Radium Hot Springs; the beautiful
canyon setting and nearly-hot-enough water made up for the uninviting
name. We joked about bathing in the cooling water from the local nuclear
reactor ("Please do NOT play with the control rods.") Relaxed and um,
glowing, we mounted up and headed for the Divide.
Jim Ormond
blga...@javelin.sim.es.com (Dances With Bikers) writes:
> ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
> >In Burns, Oregon, the gas station attendant warned Hesh about pumping
> >his own gas. Seems there's a law against "self-service" in Oregon, so
> >you have to let the attendant hand you the pump nozzle, else they're
> >likely to "tear you a new asshole," as he so poetically put it.
In my experience, most attendants ask bikers if they would like to pump their
own gas. They generally ignore state law in preference of the biker tearing
them a new one for spilling gas on the tank. But I agree that attempting to
perform the obviously dangerous and complicated task of actually removing the
nozzle from the pump is being way too forward and assuming on the part of the
motorist for these guys to handle. After all, it *is* the highlight of their
day and comprises a technical task for which they have trained for literally
minutes before being allowed to practice their skills on the public.
> Looks like Utah's booze laws have nothing on Oregon's gas laws. :-)
Except that here, they will sell gas on Sunday.
> So what's the point of "MiniServe" anyways?
With "Mini Serve", they only pump gas and it costs a few cents less per gallon
than at the "Full Serve" pumps. At the "Full Serve" island, they will wash the
windows and check fluids and air ("Yep, it's raining, and the smog ain't too
bad today, either").
> --
> Blaine Gardner @ Evans & Sutherland 580 Arapeen Drive, SLC,
Utah 84108
> blga...@javelin.sim.es.com uunet!javelin.sim.es.com!blgardne BIX:
blaine_g
> DoD #46 My other motorcycle is a Quadracer. FJ1200 "The
carpool"
> "I didn't know Fisher-Price made luggage" "Who makes that luggage,
Rubbermaid?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Jim Ormond email: jam...@lindir.WR.TEK.COM
Tektronix, Inc. snail: PO Box 4600 Mail Stop 92-710
Beaverton, OR 97076 Phone: (503) 629-1916
Voice: "Hey, you! Yea, you, jerk!"
Dod: #406
Ride: '82 CB900 Custom
Cage: Who cares?
Phil Stone
by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
In Kootenay National Park, we had reached a goal of sorts; we were
in the Canadian Rockies, and the spectacular scenery of the National
Parks was all around us. We spent the next three days touring the
hundreds of miles of parkland, and took an extended journey into the
realm of sensory overload. Here, my account, like my memory, becomes
extremely fragmented, a jumble of beautiful images: streams either
white with rapids or colored a brilliant green by "glacial milk" -
thick evergreen forests running up impossibly steep mountainsides,
dense concentrations of coniferous life interrupted here and there
by the vertical scars of long-melted avalanches.
The roads were not fun in and of themselves. They are no-nonsense,
major highways, hacked through rugged wilderness by immense national
effort (Kootenay N.P. is a result of a deal made by the government to
complete the Banff-Invermere Highway - the private effort stumbled - in
exchange for a vast tract of preserved land). So we didn't get much
chance to rub off our sidewalls, but we didn't mind. Wide open highway
was a blessing; it enabled the constant head-swiveling and astounded
gawking to take place without fear of driving off a cliff.
I could not imagine how different things would have been in a car.
On motorcycles, the absurd immensity of the landscape was a constant
companion; it rose up thousands of feet in all directions, and twenty
mile vistas spun off the tips of our handlebars. Continual temperature
changes washed over us, and waves of pine fragrance thickened the crystal
mountain air. Pirsig's(*) description of being *in* a landscape, rather
than *spectating* as it rolls by the windshield, seemed particularly apt
in this place of high geographical drama.
We stopped at the Continental Divide, so Bob could take the requisite
corny picture of his bike perched on the boundary (it's a cherry ST1100,
so I can't make the obvious joke about it leaking into two different
oceans). We were now in Banff National Park, in the province of Alberta.
Phil Stone (ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov | ...ames!eos!phil)
'83 R80ST DoD #95
(*) "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert Pirsig.
Bob Palin
> trying to find it on a map, but it's one of those Places from Which
> Good Rides Start), waiting for Bob and Hesh. The weather was perfect,
> my bike was tuned, and I had already forgotten about everything in
Yes, it was so finely tuned that gas poured from one carb at every
opportunity, unfortunately not into it's cylinder...
We spent the week sniffing and saying "I smell gas", it was coming from
Phil's boot.
Phil had thoughtfully put a couple of deer whistles on his bike and
let me tell you they really worked. The first 8 deer we saw were
lying comatose by the side of the road, obviously overcome with the
mating cry of a BMW R80ST. Could it have had anything to do with Phil
wearing a deer on his body? Enquiring minds don't care.
8-)
--
Bob Palin, Varian, Walnut Creek, Ca (510)945-2278, AMA #353696, DoD #257
^^^
b...@varian.com {lll-winken,pacbell}!varian!bob CBR600, ST1100
Robert Smits
>
> I could not imagine how different things would have been in a car.
> On motorcycles, the absurd immensity of the landscape was a constant
> companion; it rose up thousands of feet in all directions, and twenty
> mile vistas spun off the tips of our handlebars. Continual temperature
> changes washed over us, and waves of pine fragrance thickened the crystal
> mountain air. Pirsig's(*) description of being *in* a landscape, rather
> than *spectating* as it rolls by the windshield, seemed particularly apt
> in this place of high geographical drama.
>
Ahhhhh yes, the temperature. I remember riding from Calgary to Banff
through the park at Easter one year. Parked my GS-1000E in an as yet
unopened for the year campsite, and pitched my tent. A little chilly, but
that's what DAMART is for, right? Wake up and gosh, it must be too early,
it's still so dark.......Nope, it's an inch of snow on the tent....Oh
well, plugged in my gloves and went...great fun slithering through the
snow.....
Robert Smits Nanaimo BC | I don't wanna pickle,
e...@smits.wimsey.bc.ca | just wanna ride my motorsickle - AG
J Eric Townsend
In article <30...@tekig7.MAP.TEK.COM> br...@tekig10.pen.tek.com (or current resident) writes:
>The Question is, is gas cheaper in states where self-service exists? I
>haven't noticed much of a discount in neighboring Washington, but I
>seldom need to gas up there.
I was in Oregon during April, and gas prices were rougly 10 cents cheaper
than they were here in Texas (where we drill/process lots o the stuff).
My only answer is that Houston gas stations are ripping people off.
--
J. Eric Townsend - j...@uh.edu - Systems Wrangler, UH Dept of Mathematics
vox: (713) 749-2126 '91 CB750, DoD# 0378, TMRA# 27834
PowerGlove mailing list: glove-lis...@karazm.math.uh.edu
-- Vote Bart Stewart for Houston Mayor -- "Why the Hell Not!" --
Jeff Deeney
> The reason I've heard given for this seemingly silly law is that it
> was passed in the early 80's, when the decline in the timber industry
> was loading up the unemployment roles in Oregon. Requiring gasoline
> attendants to pump the gas supposedly kept them from being put out of
> work. This might be true in the bigger, urban gas stations, but out in
The bizarre thing is, that this issue was put up for a general vote, and
the populace voted against self-serve. A fine example of big bucks
corporate advertising, water-logged brains of the voters, or both.
-Jeff Deeney- DoD#0498
j...@hpfcla.hp.fc.com AMA#540813
Fort Collins, Colorado
We don't stop riding because we get old, we get old because we stop riding.
Phil Stone
>We spent the week sniffing and saying "I smell gas", it was coming from
>Phil's boot.
>Phil had thoughtfully put a couple of deer whistles on his bike and
>let me tell you they really worked. The first 8 deer we saw were
>lying comatose by the side of the road, obviously overcome with the
>mating cry of a BMW R80ST. Could it have had anything to do with Phil
>wearing a deer on his body? Enquiring minds don't care. 8-)
>Bob Palin, Varian, Walnut Creek, Ca (510)945-2278, AMA #353696, DoD #257
Heh. The damn bear whistles didn't work at all, though.
Oh, and in exchange for revealing my bike's embarassing litle
incontinence problem, I've just remembered that Bob really wanted
to stop at the "animal lick" in Kootenay Park, until I told him
it didn't mean what he thought it did.
:-)
Phil Stone
by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
The alternate route from Johnston Canyon (where we camped on our first
night in the parks) to Banff, the Bow Valley Parkway, was an idyllic
cruise through the forest. Though it had some nice twisty sections, and
even split into two one-way tracks in a couple of places, our speed was
moderated by the high visibility of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and
the low visibility of constant animal encounters (usually deer or elk).
As usual, this was not a problem, as the scenery was too nice for hurrying.
For a town so dependent on tourism, Banff still manages to be a wonderful
place. On the other hand, Fresno would probably seem wonderful in the
same aweseome setting. The gem of the skyline is Mt. Rundle, an isolated
and two-mile-high sharp tooth of front-range granite that reflects nicely
off Vermilion Lake, just outside of town.
The Icefields Parkway runs some 165 miles between Lake Louise and Jasper.
In this one afternoon's ride, we were inundated with more overpowering
imagery than could possibly be absorbed. Bob's keen eye for a good
photograph often had us pulling over to feast on some particularly nice
scenery. This was a valuable service he performed; the pace that our
itenary dictated - getting from the San Francisco Bay Area to Jasper and
back again in nine days - meant that we couldn't linger for long in one
place or stop too often. The sensory overload that results from the
immersion-like nature of motorcyle touring through scenic places can make
it difficult to make such choices.
Some of the sights were obvious ride-stoppers. The Columbia Icefield,
which is a 125 square mile-sized sheet of ice, creeps right down to
the Icefields Parkway via the Athabasca Glacier. After a short hike and
a lot of slipping and sliding, two Denizens and Hesh (he has no number,
but we like him anyway :-)) stood on a glacier! We all agreed that it
was very slow and handled poorly, but enjoyed the ride, nevertheless.
The Endless Chain Ridge flanks the Icefields Parkway to the north of
the Athabasca Glacier. No subtlety went into the building of this
eighteen-mile(!) ridge. It is clear from a glance that a huge piece
of the earth's crust simply ripped and uplifted to an extreme angle.
One can almost imagine it happening instantly, with a cataclysmic
noise and surprised animals tumbling down the slopes of the newborn
mountains.
The frontier atmosphere of the village of Jasper was enhanced by the
presence of a grazing herd of elk in the municipal park. At the
campground near Jasper, we were told to be even more careful than
usual about bears (they're very serious about this, since grizzly and
black bears thrive in this part of the Rockies), as one was known
to be around. We didn't see any bears that night, but a few caribou
were spotted. The next day, we did see a black bear munching berries
near the Yellowhead Highway. Of course we had to stop and annoy it
by taking its picture. Advice given by the park service in this
sort of case was "stay inside your vehicle." What, should we crawl
into our saddlebags? Actually, the bear pretty much ignored us,
though old Yogi looks pretty small in my photo, so I don't think I
let him get very close before I took off.
Bob Palin
> Oh, and in exchange for revealing my bike's embarassing litle
> incontinence problem, I've just remembered that Bob really wanted
> to stop at the "animal lick" in Kootenay Park, until I told him
> it didn't mean what he thought it did.
Well, don't we all wake up some mornings with a furry tongue ?
I just wanted to see how it happened...
--
Bob Palin, Varian, Walnut Creek, Ca (510)945-2278, AMA #353696, DoD #257
Len DePalma
In article <1991Sep24.0...@eos.arc.nasa.gov>,
ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
|> [highlights from a recent trip to the Canadian Rockies undertaken
|> by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
|>
<recount of great trip deleted>
This trip is something my wife and have been dreaming about for
a few years now... however, we don't relish having to first make
that long and mostly boring ride (at least after the first few
fields!) across the prairies first. (Maybe if we could get more
than three weeks off a year, but I digress!)
Does anyone have any idea how easy it is to rent a m/c in Banff
or surrounding area? We are considering flying out and
then getting a rental... preferably 2 wheels suitable for
touring as we would probably want to drop over to Vancouver/
Seattle while 'in the neighborhood'! Hence, an alternative would
be to fly out to Vancouver and then head inland, so any info on
rentals in that area would be helpful too.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Above opinions are mine alone. Sorry, but I can't receive external
email yet.
Paul Spencer
>
>This trip is something my wife and have been dreaming about for
>a few years now... however, we don't relish having to first make
The praries _ARE_ boring if you ride across Canada, or across
Kansas or Nebraska. (I've done it enough times...)
However, if you want to go from east to west, and have fun, ride
through South Dakota. (To get there from Ontario, try the north-of-
Superior route through Ontario, and then Minnesota; both are scenic).
South Dakota has the badlands, Mount Rushmore, and more fun riding than
you think. From there you can head up to Bighorn National Forest,
Yellowstone, and Glacier National Park, then cross the border to
Banff/Jasper.
Three weeks is loads of time; last year I did Montreal->Rushmore->
Salt Lake City->Colorado->home in two.
....paul
--
Paul Spencer Silicon Graphics Advanced Systems Division
spe...@sgi.com Mountain View, California
msw
>> In article <1991Sep24.0...@eos.arc.nasa.gov>,
>> ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
>> |> [highlights from a recent trip to the Canadian Rockies undertaken |> by
>> Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself] |>
>>
>> <recount of great trip deleted>
>
> This trip is something my wife and have been dreaming about for a few years
> now... however, we don't relish having to first make that long and mostly
> boring ride (at least after the first few fields!) across the prairies
> first. (Maybe if we could get more than three weeks off a year, but I
> digress!)
>
> Does anyone have any idea how easy it is to rent a m/c in Banff
> or surrounding area? We are considering flying out and then getting a
> rental... preferably 2 wheels suitable for touring as we would probably want
> to drop over to Vancouver/ Seattle while 'in the neighborhood'! Hence, an
> alternative would be to fly out to Vancouver and then head inland, so any
> info on rentals in that area would be helpful too.
I can only speak of the Calgary and Banff area (Calgary is approx. 70
miles east of Banff). There are *no* places to rent motorcycles in
this part of the world. If you are planning on touring this area, be
warned that the riding season can be very short (like from the
beginning of May to the end of September). Depending on the weather
it might be slightly longer (one extra month on either side). If you
are touring at the beginning or end of the season make sure that you
have lots of warm clothing as the temperature can drop below freezing
overnight. It isn't unusual when we go for our weekend blasts to
ride in just above freezing weather with snow on the ground outside
of the city.
Hope this helps
--
,
"A storm breaks trees, Mark -%)
it only bends grass." m...@cpsc.UCalgary.CA
Solzhenitsyn ...!{uunet!ubc-cs, utai}!calgary!msw
Michael Bain
>
>Does anyone have any idea how easy it is to rent a m/c in Banff
>or surrounding area? We are considering flying out and
>then getting a rental... preferably 2 wheels suitable for
>touring as we would probably want to drop over to Vancouver/
>Seattle while 'in the neighborhood'! Hence, an alternative would
>be to fly out to Vancouver and then head inland, so any info on
>rentals in that area would be helpful too.
How about flying to Seattle and riding up?
I've noticed this advertisement but have no experience with them nor
do I know anything about their reputation. I don't even know if there
is a restriction for crossing borders. Anyway, at your own risk:
Pacific Northwest Cycle Adventures: 1-800-882-2818
--
Michael "Poppa" Bain (206) 393-9526
Boeing Commercial Airplane Group meb...@galileo.boeing.com
FJ1200 Pilot for Team Calamari DOD# 757 AMA# 565985
"Loud Pipes Save Lives!"
[Allan H. Evans
> Banff/Jasper.
>
is far enough away from things that it has retained at least some
character. Banff is too TOURIST. Usually the highway is quiet also.
I have brought my bike over to OZ.... tales of trips through N.S.W. are
pending.... GOD THIS IS BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY.
______________________________________________________________________________
| What exactly ARE you talking about???????????????????????????????????? |
| Allan H. Evans * School of Geography * UNSW * PO Box 1 Kensington 2033 |
| all...@earth.gas.unsw.oz.au ************* all...@saturn.gas.unsw.oz.au |
Kevin Malloy (DoD #106)
>
> This trip is something my wife and have been dreaming about for a few years
> now... however, we don't relish having to first make that long and mostly
> boring ride (at least after the first few fields!) across the prairies
> first. (Maybe if we could get more than three weeks off a year, but I
> digress!)
>
> Does anyone have any idea how easy it is to rent a m/c in Banff
> or surrounding area? We are considering flying out and then getting a
> rental... preferably 2 wheels suitable for touring as we would probably want
> to drop over to Vancouver/ Seattle while 'in the neighborhood'!
A friend of mine in Seattle told me that rented motor vehicles registered in
Canada and driven by Americans over the border are IMPOUNDED at the border --
vice versa for Canadians driving American registered rented motor vehicles
into Canada. I don't know why, and my friend isn't one to bullshit about
the law. I'd look into it if you rent a bike (or cage, for that matter)
in Alberta and try to take it into Washington.
BTW, byte (-: the bullet and ride your bike across the boring plains. They're
not that bad, and having your own bike in the mountains is great -- It was worth
my crossing Eastern Colorado and Kansas (and Missouri and Illinois) on my bike
to play on the roads of Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina...
Kevin
Kevin Malloy k...@druco.att.com 633 E 11 Av USA Denver CO 80203 303/830-2937
DoD #106 Today: '83 Honda CB650SC Nighthawk Soon (5/92): '92 BMW K100RS (EDO)
Tom Coradeschi <tcora>
>
>In article <1991Sep24.0...@eos.arc.nasa.gov>,
>ph...@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone) writes:
>|> [highlights from a recent trip to the Canadian Rockies undertaken
>|> by Bob Palin, Hesh, and myself]
>|>
>
><recount of great trip deleted>
>
>This trip is something my wife and have been dreaming about for
>a few years now... however, we don't relish having to first make
>that long and mostly boring ride (at least after the first few
>fields!) across the prairies first. (Maybe if we could get more
>than three weeks off a year, but I digress!)
>
>Does anyone have any idea how easy it is to rent a m/c in Banff
>or surrounding area? We are considering flying out and
>then getting a rental... preferably 2 wheels suitable for
>touring as we would probably want to drop over to Vancouver/
>Seattle while 'in the neighborhood'! Hence, an alternative would
>be to fly out to Vancouver and then head inland, so any info on
>rentals in that area would be helpful too.
As an alternative, have you considered shipping your bike out, riding it
there, and then shipping it back? A friend of mine has done this a number of
times with good results (ie, bike arrives undamaged, cost is reasonable,
etc).
And, yes. The same friend reports that the prairies are *really* boring. The
one time they rode back to NJ from the Canadian Rockies, his wife kept
falling asleep on the back of the bike...
--
tom coradeschi <+> tc...@pica.army.mil
Phil Stone
[highlights from a recent trip to the Canadian Rockies undertaken
Our time in the Canadian Rockies had run out. We figured it would take
three days of vigorous riding to get back to the Bay Area, so with some
reluctance, we left Lake Louise early on Friday morning and headed due
west through Yoho Park on the Trans-Canadian Highway. The rugged
mountain scenery softened somewhat as the Continental Divide fell
behind us. Outside of the national parks, large swaths were clear-cut
through the thick timber on many of the mountainsides; it was a hard
thing to look at after seeing so much pristine forest.
At lunch in Revelstoke, we consulted the map. We had no firm plans for
a route home, so it was time to at least find a general direction of
travel. Revelstoke sits near the top of the mighty Columbia River,
which flows nearly due south until it crosses into the United States.
On the AAA map, a gray line of Winnebago-discouraging width followed
the Columbia, including a ferry crossing and encounters with a few small
towns here and there. It smelled like a good road.
It was a superb road. The first twenty-five miles lined a bluff above
the river basin, providing sweeping vistas of the Columbia and the
surrounding mountains. We arrived at the ferry crossing about a half
hour before the next boat was scheduled to arrive, so Bob decided to
head back up the road to take some photographs; he figured he could go
about 10 miles before he'd turn around and get back to the slip with
time to spare. Ahh, the best laid plans of motorcycles and men...
Minutes after he disappeared up the road, the ferry showed up - the
schedule be damned! I ran to my bike as in a LeMans start, fired it up
and quickly wound it up to its maximum speed of 105 m.p.h. (ok, you can
quit laughing now) in an attempt to catch Bob. After about two minutes
of buck-plus running (and the biggest bug-to-face-shield splat I've
ever seen), I saw Bob coming towards me. He had somehow deduced or
intuited that the ferry had arrived early, and was already on a speed
run towards it. I turned around and soon we were both in triple
digits. We made it to the slip just before the gates closed.
After a cooling and scenic ride on the ferry, our route continued down
the other side of the Columbia nearly the whole way to the border. We
passed through a peaceful-looking little town called Nakusp, and
enjoyed some fifty miles of twisties that carved the cliffs high above
the river.
Rolling down the highway towards Trail, just north of the border,
I was leading and holding a steady 75 mph (Hey, the speed limit signs
said '90.' What do you mean "kilometers per hour?" I don't want to
hear any nonsense about some "bloody Napoleanic measuring system",
as Bob calls it :-)). A late-model GM Nondescripto approaching from
the other direction instantly transformed into an RCMP-mobile by
flashing its brightly colored lights at me. As I descended back into
the saddle, pop-started my heart, and prepared to accept the inevitable,
the Mountie turned off the lights and gave me the universal "naughty,
naughty" hand signal as he passed. It was like being scolded by a
stern parent, but I greatly preferred it to the no-nonsense revenue-
collecting behavior of the California Highway Patrol. Thanks for the
warning, Dudley!
We cleared border customs with no trouble. Folks entering Canada were
not so lucky. The public employees strike was in full swing, and a
long line of cars pointed north. We followed the steady course of the
Columbia until dusk, when we entered the town of Kettle Falls, Washington
and set up camp by the river.
[I think I can wrap this never-ending story in one more installment.
Stay tuned if you've hung in there this far!]
Phil Stone
[highlights from a recent trip to the Canadian Rockies undertaken
- CONCLUSION -
The final two days of our trip were filled with industrial-strength
riding. We made it from the Canadian border to San Francisco in
those two days, and while a thousand miles in thirty-six hours is
not the stuff of ironbutt legends, especially not by Hesh's or Bob
"thousand mile-day" Palin's sense of scale, I figure I at least
qualified for a "copperbutt" award.
Our route wandered by the Grand Coulee Dam, and through the jagged
drowned canyons just to the south. The vast desert of central
Washington took another few hours to cross, but by mid-afternoon,
we could see the impossibly huge snow-capped peak of Mt. Rainier
in the distance. For the next three hundred miles, the isolated
volcanic sentinels of the Cascades guarded our right.
Just north of the Oregon border, the temperature began to drop and
a strong wind picked up. By the time we reached the Columbia River
Gorge, we were fighting a crosswind of some 30 m.p.h., and it didn't
let up until we stopped riding that night. For me, this was the
hardest part of the trip. Punchy from the constant buffetting and
the struggle that it took to hold a straight line, at one point I
broke out in an fit of deranged laughter as I watched Bob up ahead.
He was heeled over about 20 degrees to the right, but was going
straight. It looked totally absurd to my wind-burned brain, even
though I knew I was doing the exact same thing.
By dusk, Upper Hell, Oregon was behind us and we rolled into the
hospitable town of Bend. The microbrewery downtown had excellent
amber, live blues and a livelier crowd consisting mostly of college
students. They didn't seem to mind the three road burn-outs staring
blankly into the distance (and still listing slightly to the right),
and we didn't mind their impossibly energetic friendliness.
The air was only a few degrees above freezing the next morning. I put
on all the clothes I had, short of the rainsuit. I figured it was
bound to warm up in an hour or so, and besides, we couldn't stay at
this altitude for too much longer. Two hours later, I was still
freezing my bearings off. Bob pointed out that we were on an immense
lava flow-plateau from the Cascade Range, and we wouldn't descend to
warmer climes until the Central Valley of California. By then, we'd
be nostalgic for the "refreshing" chill of the high plateau.
As the highway came alongside the lake outside the town of Klamath
Falls, the last thing to go through a small green bug's mind was its
butt as it splucked onto my face shield. This was followed instantly by
another green splat, then another, and then a dozen in very quick
succesion. Soon my entire face shield was furry with green bug remains,
and in desperate and blind revulsion, I pulled into a Chevron station.
As I was squeeging the insect guck off my shield, the attendant said
"Don't worry about buying gas...those bugs really like motorcycle helmets,
don't they?" She explained that the flies had been imported to eat the
algae off the lake, to help reduce the mosquito problem. I asked if it
had worked, and she pointed out that the remains on my headlight were
pretty evenly divided between the scum-eaters and mosquitos. Seems like
they're both thriving. I asked how long they had to put up with this,
and she said "Oh, only just all summer." I made a mental note to cross
Klamath Falls off my list of relocation fantasies, as Bob snapped a
picture of Hesh modeling the latest in green, semi-transparent face
shield designs.
The next fifty miles were a continuous panorama of Mt. Shasta. Its awful
size became apparent as we crossed the border into California. Just
northeast of Weed, Rte. 97 took us on a wide berth around an immense lava
flow from the north side of the volcano. Clouds ringed the top; the
14,000 ft. peak was scraping its own weather out of the clear blue sky.
In the next hour, we lost some five thousand feet of altitude and gained
about fifty degrees, Farenheit. By Redding, the temperature was in, or
at least near, triple digits. To make it home by dark, we had decided to
stick to the heinous Rte. 5, and we payed the price. I remember the rest
of the day as a haze of high speed and ruinous heat. The last I saw of
Bob was when he zipped by a rest stop where I was busy soaking my helmet
and t-shirt in cold water. To break the monotony of super-slabbing through
the baking valley, I sped up to eighty-five and kept an eye peeled for the
CHP. One nice thing, no, the *only* nice thing about Rte. 5, is that the
sight-lines are infinite. I scanned all quadrants constantly, and even
had one mirror tilted up looking for "bear in the air." I didn't see a
single patroller until I hit the Bay Area.
The two five-hundred mile days, and the last day's regimen of freeze/
bake/bore-to-tears left me exhausted by the time I reached home. But
then it was time for one of life's great pleasures - the post-ride
shower. Halfway through the steaming-hot life-restorative, I was
overwhelmed by exhiliration; it had been an excellent ride. Hesh and
Bob and I had seen incredible sights, and covered a beautiful chunk of
the continent in nine days. There is a wild variety of fun things to
do in life, but exploring the planet on a motorcycle has to be one of
the best.
[The End. At last! :-) Some people have requested copies of some or
all of the segments; if you missed any and would like me to email them,
drop a note, and specify which ones you'd like. And thanks for hanging
in there this long!]
Alex Matthews
>
>As the highway came alongside the lake outside the town of Klamath
>Falls, the last thing to go through a small green bug's mind was its
>butt as it splucked onto my face shield.
Is that why they call them BUTTerflies?
--
-Alex Matthews (matt...@ajsh.colorado.edu, matt...@jila.bitnet)
DoD #0010
"Occasionally we may try to reroute you briefly onto a particularly
beautiful side road...." - Numerical Recipes
Ken Snyder
k...@druco.ATT.COM (Kevin Malloy (DoD #106)) writes:
> BTW, byte (-: the bullet and ride your bike across the boring plains. They're
Besides, if you aren't on a main freeway, it's a great place to find out
just what the top-end on your bike is. Even straight roads can be fun doing
this and who cares about the scenery if it's just a blur anyway? :-) A
side benefit is that the plains go by in no time at all...
US 2 across the plains,
Ken `2 wheels good' Snyder
Jim Foster
>
>BTW, byte (-: the bullet and ride your bike across the boring plains. They're
>wort
>my crossing Eastern Colorado and Kansas (and Missouri and Illinois) on my bike
>to play on the roads of Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia and North
>Carolina...
>
:-)
--
Jim Foster - MA...@ROHVM1.BITNET DoD #142 Rohm and Haas Company
Systems Programmer 1984 NightHawk-S Independence Mall West
(215) 592-2446, 592-3377 (FAX) 1987 Ninja 250 Philadelphia, PA 19105
Robert Smits
> And New Jersey! Ya forgot about New Joisey! Lot'sa practice with turns....
Shouldn't we all? Forget about New Jersey I mean/ :-)
Robert Smits Nanaimo BC | I don't wanna pickle,
e...@smits.oneb.wimsey.bc.ca | just wanna ride my motorsickle - AG