I get dressed, put on my chaps and hat and go down to the little gathering place where they are serving a "continental" style breakfast. As you probably know, that stands for the large muffins that come by the dozen from Costco and some too hot and too weak coffee. I make my muffin selection and take a styro cup of the coffee and sit down to consume them while I wait for the "church service" to begin.
It is Sunday morning. It is rare for me to be away from my own pulpit on an outing such as this. It is also Memorial Day weekend. I can imagine I am not the only one absent from New Life this particular morning.
There are a few Black Sheep milling about but where are the HOG's? There are not nearly as many bikes at the campground as there when when I turned in late last night. Man, these HOG's are early risers. Maybe that's how Peppermint Patti gets her 500,000 miles in - you gotta get up early. I am kind of amazed that all those Harley's with their upgraded exhaust (read "LOUDER") systems slipped away without waking me up.
This whole event was planned as an outreach to the HOG group, hoping they might out of respect or gratefulness stick around for the devotion offered this Sunday morning. Judging by their absence, most of the HOG group respectfully declined to come.
Too bad. The devotional is really good. The president of the Black Sheep was once a youth pastor somewhere in Alaska. He is doing something else now and lives with his girlfriend, they have new, beautiful matching Harley's. Anyway, we sing a worship song weakly, there is a prayer for safety for all the riders and it's over.
It is time for Mark, our third rider to turn back home for his wedding in just a few days. From this point, it is planned that it will be just Greg and I on out to Tok and back to Anchorage. I am hoping that we will be traveling a little longer and with fewer stops that more riders need.
We bring our stuff out of the room and stow most of it in my trunk and saddlebags. I really like having a touring bike on a trip like this. I only lash my sleeping bag and a smaller bag to my back seat, which doubles as a great back rest. Other riders with non-touring type bikes have elaborate lashing systems, packs and improvised ways of attaching their stuff to their bikes. It is a little "Beverly Hillbillies meets Hell's Angles" with all the bungees, straps and trash bags lashed down to the sissy bar. It works and that is the main thing.
There are a few more droplets making beaded designs on my waxed gas tank. I am resigned to a tough day of riding. I do hope the further north we go the better the weather which is often the case. Being in the mountains tends to create its own weather and sometimes is only local. At least we can hope.
We say goodbye to Mark, making jokes about the wild bachelor party he had with two old preachers. He lingers seeming reluctant to leave the fun and ride back home to the peninsula by himself. He won't actually be riding back all the way by himself. He is meeting his soon-to-be-wife in Anchorage at the new Cabela's store. While we were there, he got her OK to purchase a gun safe that could qualify as a small room addition to their home it is so big. Greg and I nod our heads in approval not saying what our wives would have to say about that. She will bring up their pickup truck, load up the small room and they will travel back to the peninsula together. I feel no sympathy for Mark having to travel back to Anchorage by himself. Serves him right for buying a gun safe that big right in front of us. The nerve.
Mark decides to ride with us to Healy and gas up there. We think he really wishes to ride the whole loop with us, which would be fine with us, but when you put on a small addition to your house, there are just certain consequences to that.
Mark, Greg and I start our bikes and warm them up to head out into what looks like honest to goodness rain. We putz out to the highway and power out. About a quarter mile up the road there is a definite line on the road that signifies where the real rain storm begins. We hear the "sizzle" of our tires on wet asphalt as spay flies everywhere. We continue up the road passing through the Denali village and on toward Healy.
Such a shame. The road in this area is beautiful for bikers. Hills, curves and the asphalt is fairly new - crack free. The State of Alaska must want to make good impressions on the tourists at the number one destination in the state. Not far out of Denali village we pass a diner on the side of the road. There are what looks like a million Harleys lined up outside. There is one huge, bright yellow one, the "Bumblebee". This is where the HOG's ditched out on us. They are having a real breakfast and skipping the Sunday service at the same time. There are waving hands through the windows as we pass by in the rain and the spray. We pass a few vehicles hoping get out of their tail wash as the rain continues to pound down. Greg on his V-rod and little gas tank need to stop in Healy to top off on gas so we can get to Nenana, the next place without running out of gas.
As we near Healy, the rain lightens up and it seems like the overcast is not so low. There is a brand new Chevron station in Healy and that is where we turn off the road. For something to do, I decide I will fill up too even though I can easily make it to Nenana on what I've got in the tank. As we fill up, the rain stops. We approve.
There is a man and his family who have stopped for gas. They have a long travel trailer they are pulling. Their dog has escaped and is playing "you can't catch me" running in circles just out of their reach. Waiting around as the weather continues to improve, we strike up a conversation and help catch the canine. Harley Davidson motorcycles always add to people's curiosity and extend the conversation. It is always interesting how these bikes make quick friends wherever they go.
The mutt is stowed in the trailer and we say our goodbyes to Mark as he heads south. NOW, we can really ride, I say to myself. It is quite a ways to Nenana and we are gassed up and have used the rest rooms. What else could possibly go wrong?
Greg and I are soon back on the road which is drying up quite quickly and the sky is brighter too. We soon pass Healy and the Assembly of God church on the side of the highway. I feel a twinge of guilt not stopping for the service which must be just getting started but we do have to get to Tok tonight which is a few hundred miles away.
It is soon clear that the State of Alaska's pride in their roads does not extend very far from Denali. There are orange signs telling us to slow down, be ready to stop. There are a series of breaks in the road that are being repaired. Each break is a couple miles long and then pavement again, and then gravel for a few miles and then pavement. It begins to rain again. A leak develops between my face shield and helmet. Drops of water drip on the end of my nose inside my full face helmet. Oh great, mud, spray and rocks.
I am now wing man as Greg is lead. I don't yet realize that riding wing is not necessary for a couple of reasons in construction areas. First, there is no passing in these zones and the speed is controlled to 35 mph. Second, the wing position is a great place to be for catching rocks being thrown by the lead guy's back tire. Greg's V-Rod has a wide, low-profile back tire which seems especially prone to throwing a few rocks. I drop back and behind just in time to avoid an object flying out from Greg's back tire that looks rectangular, about two or three inches long. It sails past my windshield and on to my right. I drop back even further.
After a few sessions of broken road and 35 mph, the only orange sign we love to see is the one telling us that construction is over- for now. We power up on our muddied bikes as the rain once again stops. It is really nice riding if you like flat, straight road with a lot of wind thrown in. This part of the Parks highway doesn't offer much in terms of interesting terrain or scenery. I am looking around for something of interest and my eye catches sight of Greg's back tire. Is it looking "squishy"? Nah, it's one of those low-profile tires that always look flat. We go on.
We are about 20 miles from Nenana at this point. I look at the tire again. It is going flat and Greg doesn't know it yet. We are in the middle of nowhere. To stop here and talk while the remaining air leaks out will do us no good and make it more difficult to get the bike to some help. I decide to watch the tire closely. We are about 5 miles from Nenana and I see Greg's back end "fish tail" which is a sign the tire is flat. I decide it is time to tell Greg. I power up next to him and point to his tire. He looks like he was suspicious already and now knows something is up. We see the outskirts of Nenana and another Chevron station. It will ruin a tire to run flat but again, help is within sight and we slow down but keep going.
We roll into the Chevron station on a completely flat tire. I am wondering who can fix a motorcycle tire in Nenana on a Sunday morning on Memorial Day weekend. I think our chances are small of finding someone. What are we going to do?
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