Day 07

July 15

Looks like another easy 500+ mile day, with only a border crossing to deal with. We load up and are soon on our way to the Caribou Burger Palace for breakfast. As you head south up the last hill out of Quesnel there it sits on right surrounded by a large gravel parking lot.

Now I get it – perfect place for truckers to pull over after the drag up the hill and have a bite to eat. And Richelle was right – it is a great breakfast. Just goes to show you find the best stuff in some of the most unexpected places. Still 500 miles is 500 miles, so we finish up and are on our way. We work our way down toward the border, soaking in more unbelievable scenery.

“What kind of pooch is she?” I ask the feller who is her master.

“Half wolf, half shepherd” he replies, “but a really sweet dog. Her name's Sadie.”

Like most dogs, she enjoys me rubbing her behind the ears and gives me at least thirty minutes to stop.

“I though she either had some husky or wolf in her. Had a Siberian Husky once – red and white shorthair with blue eyes – a real sweetheart of a dog” I add.

Seems he and his wife are in the process of moving and will be glad when it's done. As they pull out, I see someone pull up on the new Harley VRod. Never having seen one up close, I walk over to get a better look.

“Interesting looking ride you've got there” I tell him as he takes off his helmet.

“Yep, it runs pretty good and seems to be pretty solid. Where you from?” he asks.

“Well, I'm from Tennessee and Tom there's from Ohio. We're headed back from Alaska down to Seattle and then the long way home” I tell him.

He looks at me like I just landed from Mars and lets out an expletive.

“Well, I guess we'd better get on the road. It's still a few miles to get to Seattle yet” I tell him.

He stares after me, still unable to comprehend riding a motorcycle that far that quick. On the way up to Hyder, I had noticed a burger joint called ‘Herbies – Home of the Monster Burger'. I had told Tom I wanted to stop there on the way back just to check it out. Sure enough, I spot it and beam across the CB to Tom –

“Herbies – one monster burger coming up.”

We pull in and I order one and a chocolate shake. The burger and the shake are really very good although not quite ‘monster' size in my mind, so I order another one. But hey, why let truth get in the way of good advertising? – it worked on me! We're back on the road again soon, enjoying the rugged mountainsides, especially where the railroad has cut numerous tunnels through for the railbed. And not just plain tunnels – some have archways hewed out almost like an old Roman aqueduct. Before we know it, we are at the US border and ready to cross. This is one of the quickest crossings I have ever done. On my helmet I have two USMC stickers that the border guard notices immediately.

“In the Marines, were you?” he asks.

“Yes sir – 71 through 73, most of my tour at Camp Lejeune” I tell him.

He smiles and waves me on through with no delay figuring terrorists don't put USMC stickers on their helmets. We gas up just as soon as we get across, knowing this should get us to SeattlePhil's with no problem. I break out my map I've got to get to his place, and we work our way along and finally to his place. It's good to see him again – the last time I had just had hand surgery and was one-armed.

“You have two choices to park your bike – one is in my garage across the street and one is up in the garage attached to the house” SeattlePhil tells us. Since the garage across the street has a soft floor and I like to park my ST on the center stand, I tell him

“I guess I'll go for the house garage.”

“Well, it might be a little difficult” he says with a grin.

“I'm not worried about the getting in – it's the getting out that's gonna be the deal” I reply.

Little did I know the reality of that statement.

So Tom parks his ST across the street and he and SeattlePhil watch me as I run the Redbird up the ramp into the garage. It's one of those deals where there ain't no quitting place – once you commit, you commit. But me and the Redbird are up for it and make it with no problem.

He gives us the tour of his beautiful house on the Sound and shows us where we can pitch our gear. We also throw a load of clothes in the washer so we can have something clean to wear later on.

“I still can't believe you took me all the way from Nashville to Corinth, Mississippi to pick up my ST1300” SeattlePhil tells me.

“Well, I'm sure you would have done the same thing for me” I reply. “Besides, with my hand cut up, I didn't have anything else to do.”

“Well, I'm not sure I would have done for my own mother!” he tells me.

I remember that day well – it was snowing and they had shut down the north end of the Trace. I had to keep the hand in the air to keep it from throbbing since it had just been cut on and still had the stitches in it. But I finally sorted out a way to head south then jump back on the Trace to Corinth. It was a great diversion from the current pain and the next surgery on the other hand I was facing.

We both laugh and we jump in his car to head for a great restaurant that he knows about. It's called Anthony's and it sits right on the water. I order the fried oysters (one of my favorite dishes) and they are so good my tongue almost beats my brains out. Since it's Tom's birthday, we have to have a big dessert so we can be totally miserable. They don't put the right number of candles on his cake because it would be against fire regulations. And besides, any old excuse will do for eating sweetening I reckon. As we finish up, SeattlePhil picks up the tab against our protesting and he chauffeurs us back to his house. Up on the balcony of our room, we see Mount Rainier far in the distance and watch a beautiful sunset.

Tomorrow we will hook up with John Faulkner – the Mapinator, so I give him a ring –

“Mapinator, we're in Seattle and are headed your way tomorrow” I tell him.

“Well, I'll try to get away as early as I can and we can meet in Coos Bay but I may be late” he tells me.

“All right my friend, sounds like a plan to me. By the way, could you pick me up a snap on faceshield for my helmet? Mine blew off somewhere between Alaska and Seattle and I just didn't stop for it.” I ask.

“Sure thing, I'll see what I can do” he replies.