06.05.2010




As the Hilton breakfast was too expensive and not included in our accommodation price, we had corn flakes, tea and fresh fruit in our large lounge/kitchen/bed room before we loaded the bikes . Lynn and I filled the thermoses with boiled water from the coffee percolator in the room, and still had four apples for morning tea, which we would have to eat before we hit the Canadian border.

The ride on the i 5 was as easy as falling off a log, and we had a coffee break at the 87 kilometer mark, in a lovely roadside rest area in the woods. Lots of tall timber stood around us and the ground was mossy and damp. The sun had not broken through yet but the temperature had risen from 7 degrees, when we started out, to a reasonable 12 degrees, not that Des and I needed to count degrees anymore with our new heated vests. (That comment might come back to bite us when it gets below zero in Alaska!)

We had many curious people coming over to us in the rest stop. One couple, a father and his son Wyatt (6ish), had waved to us when their van overtook us on the highway. They now came over and told us they play a game, while travelling, to see who can read the number plates first . No prizes for guessing who usually wins. Wyatt was also very interested our bikes. He and his dad were on a fishing trip to catch rainbow trout. He was all decked out in cammo gear and long rubber boots. Cute kid.

We also spoke to a biker named Barry who had purchased a white Kawasaki, ex-police bike for $600 at an auction. It was being sold as 'not working', but Barry had already seen that the fuel line was not attached and reckoned that he could fix that, no problem. It turned out to be a very good buy for him, and he has lots of fun with people who think it’s still a police bike. He was a bit of a wag, was Barry. Very funny guy, we would have liked to have a longer meeting with him. That’s the trouble with being on the move all the time, we don’t get to know people for long enough.

At lunch time we all came up to the border of Canada at British Columbia. It was a breeze of a crossing. The officer took all our passports to be scanned, loaded some information into his computer, asked us if we were carrying any weapons, no mention of fruit, which we’d eaten anyway, and we were on our way. That was easy, we didn’t even need to turn off our motors. Pity it was our penultimate border crossing, I could easily do a few more of those. I now understand why some North American travellers we've met, dread the border crossing proceedure in Central and South America.