July 27, 2006 Day 17 – 408 Miles Fort Nelson, BC, Can - Rancheria, YT, Can
Fort Nelson, BC, Can - Rancheria, YT, Can
After a great, dry night’s sleep I hit the road ready to ride, still on good ol’ Canada Hwy 97 West. About thirty miles out of Fort Nelson the rain came again. As noted, I’ve replaced the Frog Togs with a great set of raingear from Helly Hanson (funny name, great product). Worked like a charm. I stayed high and dry though it rained almost every mile until I stopped in the middle of No-Damn-Where-Canada called Rancheria. The rain slowed me down as well as quite a few animal sightings. I saw (or practically ran into) sheep, moose, bison, and one mangy mongrel dog near the campground where I stayed. It turned out to be an interesting place.
I paid for a campsite and setup, then went to gas up and check my tires and oil, anticipating getting up before their rooster and hitting the road before they opened. I wasn’t hungry but decided a few celebratory beers were in order in honor of my new, and absolutely perfect, raingear. As I walked over to the “Lodge” I noticed two Harleys. One was a Tan/Red Fat Boy in excellent shape, the other a much older, solid black, chopped Harley-something with the seat removed and stuck off to the side. Upon entering the bar I noted four guys and a girl, two of the guys obviously “belonged” here and two were obviously bikers. The girl (they almost all are girls to me anymore) was early twenties, thin, not unattractive, but not breathtakingly beautiful either. They were all talking as I came in and asked for a beer. The bikers were “running” the show conversationally, and were jovial, good companion, hardy well-met seeming sort of guys. The big one was in his late forties and, evidently, knew every dirty joke ever stated in the last forty-five years. The older, thin biker, Lance, was egging him on as proof of his claim that he (the big one) knew all the dirty jokes in the world. It turned out he may have. Some of them were damned funny.
In any event, Lance was down in the dumps because the electrical system had fried in his bike boiling the battery and burning up the solenoid and various cabling. They had called around and he and his friend were stuck there until Monday or Tuesday whenever the needed parts could be shipped to Rancheria. He was particularly incensed that this had happened given he had just completely replaced the solenoid, battery, and most of the ignition wiring two weeks earlier. My first thought when I heard this was, “Hey, Lance, buddy, wakeup, you installed it…perhaps it’s not the arrows, it’s the Indian (pun unintended).” But after several beers and hours conversation with him, I suspect he installed the stuff correctly. He just seemed totally knowledgeable on the stuff. Besides, on the back of his bike rising out of the seat was a backrest with the legend “1%” on it. I’ll let you tell him he did it.
Under the heading, I told you I didn't like bears we have the following:
'Kilt by a bear when he was only sixty-one'
There was a stuffed bear in the lodge so we took it outside and took a bunch of pictures of it in various poses with various people. I missed the high (or was it low?) point. That would be Lance mounting the bear from behind. It’s just not a pretty picture, though I had the impression he could go bear hunting with a switch.
Lance (taking picture). I was afraid to take a full-face picture. It crossed my mind it might have a duplicate in the post office.
After a great, dry night’s sleep I hit the road ready to ride, still on good ol’ Canada Hwy 97 West. About thirty miles out of Fort Nelson the rain came again. As noted, I’ve replaced the Frog Togs with a great set of raingear from Helly Hanson (funny name, great product). Worked like a charm. I stayed high and dry though it rained almost every mile until I stopped in the middle of No-Damn-Where-Canada called Rancheria. The rain slowed me down as well as quite a few animal sightings. I saw (or practically ran into) sheep, moose, bison, and one mangy mongrel dog near the campground where I stayed. It turned out to be an interesting place.
I paid for a campsite and setup, then went to gas up and check my tires and oil, anticipating getting up before their rooster and hitting the road before they opened. I wasn’t hungry but decided a few celebratory beers were in order in honor of my new, and absolutely perfect, raingear. As I walked over to the “Lodge” I noticed two Harleys. One was a Tan/Red Fat Boy in excellent shape, the other a much older, solid black, chopped Harley-something with the seat removed and stuck off to the side. Upon entering the bar I noted four guys and a girl, two of the guys obviously “belonged” here and two were obviously bikers. The girl (they almost all are girls to me anymore) was early twenties, thin, not unattractive, but not breathtakingly beautiful either. They were all talking as I came in and asked for a beer. The bikers were “running” the show conversationally, and were jovial, good companion, hardy well-met seeming sort of guys. The big one was in his late forties and, evidently, knew every dirty joke ever stated in the last forty-five years. The older, thin biker, Lance, was egging him on as proof of his claim that he (the big one) knew all the dirty jokes in the world. It turned out he may have. Some of them were damned funny.
In any event, Lance was down in the dumps because the electrical system had fried in his bike boiling the battery and burning up the solenoid and various cabling. They had called around and he and his friend were stuck there until Monday or Tuesday whenever the needed parts could be shipped to Rancheria. He was particularly incensed that this had happened given he had just completely replaced the solenoid, battery, and most of the ignition wiring two weeks earlier. My first thought when I heard this was, “Hey, Lance, buddy, wakeup, you installed it…perhaps it’s not the arrows, it’s the Indian (pun unintended).” But after several beers and hours conversation with him, I suspect he installed the stuff correctly. He just seemed totally knowledgeable on the stuff. Besides, on the back of his bike rising out of the seat was a backrest with the legend “1%” on it. I’ll let you tell him he did it.
Under the heading, I told you I didn't like bears we have the following:
'Kilt by a bear when he was only sixty-one'
There was a stuffed bear in the lodge so we took it outside and took a bunch of pictures of it in various poses with various people. I missed the high (or was it low?) point. That would be Lance mounting the bear from behind. It’s just not a pretty picture, though I had the impression he could go bear hunting with a switch.
Lance (taking picture). I was afraid to take a full-face picture. It crossed my mind it might have a duplicate in the post office.
posted by Minuend | 11:39 PM
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