Another Fine Day Ride to Hope

Having pretty limited destination options on the Kenai Peninsula means that I tend to ride to the same destination more often than I like, as I enjoy different scenery and the discoveries to be made in a new location.  Being that we are just now ending the restrictions of the corona virus and the rules that kept us home and sequestered for months and the fact that the last summer's riding season in Alaska was prevented by one of the most ferocious wildfire seasons and further hampered by ubiquitous road construction, I am willing to ride anywhere I can.  Lots of pent up desire to be on my bike makes for willingness to go to just about anywhere no matter how many times I have been there before.

Hope, Alaska is a tiny place.  It is home to a hearty few, a place mostly undiscovered by the wealthy that like to build "summer cabins" with fantastic views and privacy.  It is the place where the Resurrection River empties into Turnagain Arm and in the later months of summer, hosts a tremendous run of pink salmon.  Surprisingly, there is a public school  ("Home of the Huskies") a couple of cafe's and a very small store.  Perhaps if I spent more time in Hope I would discover much more but for a momentary traveler like myself, it is mostly what is on the main drag through town that gets seen.  The state of Alaska maintains a pretty campground at the official "end of the road" that I intend to come back and camp in some day as well.  Those are the highlights.  Hope really isn't the motivation to the ride, although I would like to justify the reason to go there if I could ever get there when the cafe' that serves pie was open.  I seem to show up only when the doors are shut.  The impetus for the ride is the journey as they say.  It is a beautiful trip.

From where I live, Hope is only a little over a 200 mile trip.  Half a day at best if you don't spend a lot of time looking around.  From my home, you travel through Soldotna, Sterling, Cooper Landing and Sunrise, all in descending order of population as well as sequence.  All are charming in some way and offer activities that make getting there worth the trip.

On this trip, we had recently emerged not only from the 'rona travel restrictions, but from a rainy period that didn't seem like it was going to quit anytime soon.  I found myself unexpectedly free from responsibility for a full day with the promise of warmth and sun before me.  I left my home around 8:30 am and worked my way through Soldotna (Saul-dot-na) a little surprised at how light traffic was on this Friday.  I soon blinked and Sterling was behind me as well.  I really don't consider myself "out of town" until I am north of Sterling as the cluster of Nikiski, Kenai, Soldotna and Sterling are all pretty close to each other and pretty familiar.  So, as I drop into third gear and power up the little hill as you leave Sterling, I head toward the "flats" where most of the wildfire activity took place last summer. 

The fire burned hot and fast leaving all of the little black spruce trees (that's a variety of spruce) blackened, denuded of needles and the entire forest strewn down on the ground like so many matchsticks spilled from a box.  Perhaps a silver lining to some, the morel mushrooms grow well in recent wildfire areas and the pickers are already out enmasse.  The sides of the Sterling Highway are lined with cars with no one in sight. 

I am in no particular hurry as I reach the newly completed re-paved, widened two-lane road with strategically placed passing lanes, section of the Sterling Highway.  It is marvelous.  There is nothing a biker likes more than fresh asphalt.  I ascend into the hills that rise from the flats and continue unimpeded through Jean Lake, past the upper Skilak Lake Loop Road and The Russian River.  As I approach Cooper Landing, I anticipate what is coming.  I slow, gear down to the 35 mph posted speed limit as I begin to snake through this little community right on the beautiful Kenai River.  I crack open by face shield on my helmet and breath deeply.  The aroma of freshly leafed trees and alders is heavily fragrant in the air.  It always is this time of year.  I love the smell.  It is an aroma that doesn't last more than a couple of weeks at best and won't be back for another year.  To me it is almost itself worth the trip.

A small caravan of campers and cars with kayak racks on top begins to form as the slower speed limit tends to bunch us up.  I have a plan as one of the best sections of road is just ahead and I like to ride it with no other vehicles in front of me.  I turn off the Sterling Highway onto Snug Harbor Road which is right where Kenai Lake becomes the Kenai River.  Right away, there is another turn off to the left where Kenai Lake Baptist Church has been for many years.  It is deserted today and quiet, a perfect place to get off the bike, stretch my legs and wait for the caravan of cars and campers to get far ahead.

It's a beautiful little log church, it looked like it had been where it is a long time when I moved to the Kenai Peninsula 32 years ago.  I don't think much has changed.  Modern convenience seems to still have passed them by and traditional touches are evident.

 An Alaskan "cache" serves as the bell tower.  Indoor plumbing has yet to arrive.

The church "fellowship hall" has one of the most beautiful views anywhere.

I am surprised that this church is still here.  Not because it may not have a robust congregation, but because of it's location.  My surprise is that some wealthy person has not bought their location and built a gate accessed baron's lodge in the church's place.  The pictures from my iPhone 10 just don't capture the wealth of beauty this spot is.  I am pleased the church hasn't sold out.

I don my helmet and jacket again and enter the highway gain.  Open and empty, just the way I like it.  I slowly cross the bridge admiring the turquoise blue of the Kenai river and then wind my way through the rest of Coooper Landing following the lakeside path of the road.  The road here is very narrow and as I approach my favorite stretch, it appears even more narrow with the trees encroaching on both sides.  Serpentine curves, uphill grade turn to tighter curves and a downhill grade.  It is glorious for a bike rider and I have it all to myself.  Understand, I'm riding a touring bike, a Harley Davidson FLHTCU (whatever that stands for) Ultra Glide.  It is built for comfort, riding distances, interstates and the like.  On curves and such it isn't in its best element but I can pretend I am on a Japanese crotch rocket laying over with my knee a centimeter from the pavement.  I'm not, but that is the way it feels and I like it.  Too soon I am through the curves and at Sunrise which I pass by without a stop. 

Just a few miles down the road I reach the intersection of the Seward Highway and the Sterling Highway at Tern Lake.  It's a beautiful location.  I heard a few years back, that there was a plan afoot to designate Tern Lake a national monument with and accompanying cash flow to put hiking paths and platforms around the lake to better experience it's beauty.  It must have been a rumor because it is still beautiful but no hiking paths or platforms yet.

Just a rather crusty pullout with crumbling asphalt and gravel sort of haphazardly there next to the lake.  I pause just a moment to snap a picture and again am on my way.  The dilemma of riding in Alaska is that there are so many picture worthy views that were a person to stop and take those pictures, you would never get anywhere.  So, I take a few and attempt to describe the rest.

I am now in Turnagain Pass.  The hills have turned to mountains to which snow fields still cling heavily and will into most of the summer before being renewed next winter.  Good snow pack provides lots of water that become the streams and rivers and lakes that grace the views from the road.  Upper Summit lake comes up soon.

The lodge and cafe here doesn't look like it will open this year due to the 'rona.  After last summer's devastating fires on the peninsula these small business places may dry up and not come back, a very sad prospect.  Two hard summers of no income is not a hardship many can overcome.

Lower Summit Lake is not far.  It has always had one of the most iconic "Alaskan" views of a rustic cabin on a lakeside that can been appreciated from the road that I have ever seen.  I don't know who owns these little places but I have to admit to some envy.

The traffic is still light as I head on to the "Hope Cutoff" and to my destination for the day.  The bike is performing well as I climb the grades and lean into my curves.  I finally see the sign:

 At last, I'm at the cutoff.  I signal left and leave the Seward Highway and turn onto the Hope Road. 

I don't know it at this point, in fact, it is too much to ask or think would ever happen.  For the next 15 miles I do not encounter a single vehicle in my lane.  This is a bikers dream.  The road to Hope is very curvy, offers incredible views of mountain, stream and inlet.  I go as fast as I want and as slow as I want - I tailor my speed to the road and relish every moment.  I don't know if this will ever happen again, but it is happening now and I am not going to waste the moment.  It is still early in the day on this Friday and with the 'rona restrictions recently lifted I am thinking people must not be out and about yet.  Something to keep in mind for future trips. 

Almost with reluctance I see the quaint sign that announces I have arrived at my destination.  I don't stop in town just yet, I go on to the end of the road where the Porcupine Campground entrance is.  This is a lovely site and I do intend to camp here some day.  Some campsites are in deep tall birches and some are near the bluff on Turnagain Arm.  No matter which site you choose, they are all good.  There is a easy hiking trail that goes along the Arm at the end of the campground that affords a great day activity.

I make my way through the campground and head into "town" just to check the scenery again.  It never disappoints.  Hope was a "turn-of-the-century" (the 19th one) gold rush town in it's heyday.  Thousands of gold seekers landed here to find their fortune for a year or two and then moved on.  It's a common history in Alaska.  The few who where early and vested stayed on to work their mines and live their way of life they carved from this wilderness.  It's nostalgic and a "historic district" of remnant homes still stand, some of their current owners are descendants of their hardy ancestors.  The places are kept with meticulous effort, gardens, lawns and very tidy. 

I am hungry and the Cafe' is not open for another hour and is only serving "take out".  Not what I have in mind.  I decide to take my time going back and look for other offerings. 

Almost immediately I find that the population must be waking up and moving about.  There are a few cars on the road now, not a lot, probably more like usual when I come to Hope.  I am taking my time so I only pass one car as I take the winding way back to the Seward Highway. 

I am soon there and watching the rpm's on my tachometer wind up as I climb out of the 6 Mile River valley.  I am thinking I will stop at Gwin's Lodge on the way back for lunch.  Gwin's is a long established lodge on the Kenai River in the Cooper Landing area.  I have eaten here before and it is good.  I am already thinking that a bacon cheeseburger is what I am hungry for.  I can't get there too soon.  I round the corners and pass another less long established business that is incredibly popular, Wildman's.

What it lacks in aesthetics it more than makes up in rest rooms.  Plus it serves corn dogs, chicken nuggets, cheese sticks and hand scooped ice cream.  People stand in lines inside for their turn to purchase.   I move on to Gwin's as I have other ideas for lunch.  Down the road only a couple of miles Gwin's comes into view. 

It's a little more traditional than Wildman's and just what I am looking for.  I back my bike into a front parking spot and take my helmet and jacket off.  I am surely hungry.  As I look to make my way in, I see a sign, "take out only".  Hmmm.  Not what I had in mind.  As I round the corner to find the take out window, a gentleman comes out of a side door and tells me they are not ready to serve food yet (the sign said open at 12 noon) because of "technical difficulties" unspecified.  Misfire.  Hungry as ever, I mount the Ultra again and head down the road to home assured that I will not starve to death on the way as I have stored calories up against this very circumstance.  I do feel like I will be 10 pounds lighter by the time I get home. 

The trip out is different from the trip in.  Everybody is up.  Traffic and bugs.  As I make the miles home the multi spectrum of bug guts fill my face shield.  State road crews are out and holding up traffic, an Alaskan tradition.  They are painting stripes on the new asphalt and Caterpillars are landscaping the slopes that descend to the road.  I have no agenda so I am patient and figuring my 25th place in line will not allow the freedom of the road I enjoyed so much earlier in the morning.  But, it is warm and dry and I am on my bike.

POW! Getting Ready

Early in the spring  of 2019, I found out about a great opportunity.  Our Alaska Chi Alpha ministry (Assemblies of God university campus ministry) was given a week to use a charter fishing lodge to raise funds.  All they had to do was fill the week with donors and let them fish to their hearts content.  As soon as I found out about it, I was in!  It was a "bucket list" kind of opportunity that I have wanted to experience for a long time.  Since turning 60 years old recently, I figure it is time to start crossing off those "want to's" off the list.  This was a big one.

It was easy to justify as, 1. It was for missions!  All the money goes to Alaska university missions outreach.  Justified right there.  2. I called a good friend and urged him to go and he signed right on.  I was going to spend some time with quality people, my friend and the leaders of our Alaska Chi Alpha.  3. Fishing!  A whole week of it.  On Prince Of Wales Island in Southeast Alaska (POW)!  I have never been to POW before but had heard much about it from people who had.  I was excited.  I call it #winwinwin.

So, I had a couple of months to ponder what kind of equipment to bring while I anticipated the adventure.  If you subscribe to the theory, "there is no bad weather, only bad gear", you know that the gear you bring can make or break your experience.  Being cold, wet or too hot can all diminish the enjoyment of a great outing, so having the limited amount of gear and that I have, I wanted to put together the best and most applicable stuff I have.

There is a lot to consider.  First, what am I going to actually carry all that gear in?  Am I going to roll my suitcase around at a remote fishing camp?  Is it going to get wet sitting in a puddle of water in the bottom of a boat with a bunch of dead fish or in the back of a pickup in the rain?  Lots of unknowns.

What am I going to wear?  I like cotton jeans to wear, but when wet, they bind and offer no warmth.  Plus, when I eventually spill food on them (for some reason mustard is a frequent spill), they just stay dirty for the rest of the time.  They don't have laundromats in fish camps, do they?  So, I had to come up with some pants to wear.

Shirts are another critical consideration as well.  What to wear that will provide some warmth, even if wet?  Also, easy to clean since I am wanting to pack light.  Synthetic materials are a must and some even have odor defeating treatments that can make you easier to be around.

Gear.  Rain is a likely element to deal with.  On Prince of Wales, they get over 200" of rain each year, so it is likely some of the days we will see rain.  Something waterproof to cover myself is a must.

What about a firearm?  If I do some freshwater stream fishing (part of the appeal of POW) not all the fishermen walk upright on two feet.  I have the answer for that question.  My Super Redhawk Alaskan in .44 magnum will provide a margin of safety if there is a dispute about who belongs on a stream with one of the more hairy residents of POW.  By the way, POW has one of the highest densities of black bears in the world.  No brown bears on this island which is surprising.  It is documented that black bears have killed more humans than their bigger cousins, the brown bear.  I feel good about bringing the SRA even if it is a bit of a boat anchor to lug around.  I chose this particular model as it was what a friend of mine used when he was charged by a large male brown bear just a few years ago.  Without it, he most likely would not have lived to tell the tale.  It is an additional hassle to bring it along, double locked hard side cases, declaring it at airport check ins, picking it up at baggage claim, ID, TSA, etc., but, it would better to have it than not if it was needed.

Fishing poles and tackle.  Now this is a fishing lodge and they do provide fishing poles and tackle, but they do not provide my preferred fly fishing rods or tackle.  All of the saltwater fishing and tackle and bait is covered, so are spinning rods for freshwater, but I want to fly fish.  POW has a legendary run of steelhead trout and sea-run cutthroat trout.  Both species are high on my list to catch.  So, I select two rods, a 5 wt. and an 7 wt. with appropriate reels.  I have a huge selection of wooly buggers, beadheads, egg sucking leaches, beads and glow bugs to throw at any thing in the water so all of that goes in the pile of gear.

Socks, underwear, t-shirts, and oh, they have a jacuzzi hot tub!  Swim shorts go in the pile as well.

Knives, cameras, handheld GPS, and a Leatherman folding pliers make up the hardware pile.  Now I love knives so it is difficult to select just a single knife.  There are so many for such diverse uses.  I try to keep it to half a dozen with a sharpening steel thrown in as well.

I make lists to be sure I don't forget anything important.  I look over my outdoor gear to see if it is in good repair or if it triggers a thought that I might have need of it.  Understand, some of this is my love of anything gadgety, and by taking it on this trip, it would justify that I have it.  One can feel a little guilty or sheepish if you have gear you have never used, but have it "just in case".  I resign to the fact that I can't bring everything I would like to bring.  I would need the Queen of Sheba's entourage and caravan to carry it all.  Besides, I have this contradictory desire.  I want to be an ultralight traveler.  Weird, I know.  I have a love of all things neat and handy but I want to carry a backpack of only two pounds.  I have a lot of thinking to do and decisions to make.

I go shopping to get some of the stuff I'll need and where I live, the second hand store is the place to start.  I need the right kind of bag to carry all of my bulky gear.  I score.  At the second hand store is a extra large waterproof duffle bag with pack straps that I could crawl into to use as a boat if necessary.  The price?  $18.  Condition?  Brand new, never used.  I look it up online: $169.  I love the second hand store.  A couple of days later my wife and I stop by a random garage sale.  A brand new back pack is scored for $10 and a waterproof back pack for $8, new as well.  I have my traveling gear.

By the time it is the night before I leave, I have selected 40 pounds of stuff to go in my extra large waterproof duffle, which included wading boots, chest waders, fly reels and tackle, sandals, the aforementioned boat anchor, knives, rain gear and my coat.  Also stuffed in are the waterproof backpack, empty at this point and some of my gadgets.  Ready or not, here I come.  I fill the new backpack with just my clothes for the week, and some snacks.  Getting hungry would not be a good thing on a bucket list adventure.

A Spring Ride

It was a rare day in the spring of 2019, the sky was blue and sunny though the temperature had not risen higher than 54 degrees all day.  The sun starvation of our long winter was making me antsy in the church office.  My staff must have sensed my antsy-ness as they urged me to take the afternoon off to go riding.  I told them I had to go to the post office and I would "pray about it" and if the Lord told me to take the rest of the day off, I would.  I knew before I left I was not coming back.

I had been coming out of a bout of sickness that was hanging on and on so my energies were not up to par, but I was very interested in getting on my bike and getting out of town for even a few hours.  With the hit and miss weather we had been experiencing this spring, my obligations as usual lined up on the few nice breaks in the weather and my free time always seemed to come when things were cold and wet.  I was going to take advantage of my moment.

Not being on a bike for some time, one should take extra precautions to get reacquainted with the bike, traffic, and road conditions.  So I chose the road less traveled for those reasons and headed out.  It's a funny thing that when I head out on a day trip I usually don't have a destination in mind.  I kind of let the road be the decision maker.  If the traffic is busy one way, I'll go the other.  If the clouds look forbidding in the direction I was going to go, I'll go the opposite direction.  Today, the traffic and weather were all at comfortable levels so I considered that the road construction going north would have too much stop and go so, I decided south would be the thing to do.

There really are no bad decisions when it comes to destinations where I live.  The scenery is fabulous wherever you decide to end up.  One of the frustrations of writing about my riding is the limited amount of pictures I can plug into my blog.  Riding a motorcycle tends to occupy your hands, (at least one of them) so taking pictures isn't really a possibility unless you stop frequently to safely get a picture.  As a result, most of the pictures I take are at the beginning and end of a trip, or at gas stations and once in awhile on a long trip, a rest stop.  So the brunt of the descriptions are the creative use of words to convey the idea.

It isn't until about five o'clock that I am ready to pull out of my driveway and head somewhere.  I have already decided to go south.  How far south?  There is Kasilof, Clam Gulch, Ninilchik, Anchor Point and Homer.  Each place takes at least 20 minutes to get from one to the other with Homer at the end of the road being an hour and a half away.  I pull out still undecided as to my final destination.

I am soon on Kalifonsky Beach Road and turn my Ultra Glide south.  It is running exceptionally fine.  This is the first real ride since I had it tuned up last fall.  New tires, spark plugs, oil change and all the fussy adjustments with clutches and cables, cams and cogs.  As the still somewhat weak power of the sun begins to warm me as I ride, I think I would be a fool not to go all the way to Homer today.  What if this is the only opportunity I get?  I make the decision to go to Homer.  With that settled, I switch on the cruise control and set my speed.

I am not in any particular hurry today, usually I ride a little faster, but I am savoring the moment, not trying to make speed and distance.  I want to just let the things that build up in my head be dragged away by the wind as I take in the scenery.

It isn't but 20 minutes or so until I intersect with the Sterling Highway near Kasilof and turn further south.  There are a couple of stop and go construction projects but they are doing a pretty good job about keeping the traffic moving.  Everywhere in Alaska they are removing old, small, salmon blocking culverts and replacing them with ginormous culverts that allow a more natural flow of the stream and do not block fish from moving further up their natal streams when they are there to spawn.  It's great for the fish and for Alaska so I am patient with it.

The scenery is at it's best today.  The humidity must be low as there is no "haze" obscuring the view.  The waters reflect the perfectly blue sky in a mesmerizing azure hue that is deeply intense.  Cook Inlet often looks "muddy" due to the silty glacial tide flats the that surround it.  Today it is beautiful.

The traffic is light and the few vehicles I encounter I pass easily and quickly with a short twist of the throttle after a quick downshift and then back to cruising speed.  I slow as I go through Ninilchik and then twenty minutes later, Anchor Point.  It is at Anchor Point I decide at the last minute to pull off the Sterling Highway and turn on to the Old Sterling Highway for a 9 mile diversion.  This narrow, old, twisty section of road was once the main highway.  I have no idea when they rerouted it, but it is easy to understand why.  The thing with narrow, old, twisty roads is that motorcyclists love them.  Generally, they are less traveled. you get to see different scenery than the main highway and you get to lean into your turns.  And lean I do.  I love it.  (Fun fact: Anchor Point is the most westerly point you can drive in the northern hemisphere on a connected road.)

When I emerge to rejoin the main Sterling Highway I am not far from Homer.  As you approach Homer, you realize the highway has been following a ridge that is a few hundred feet higher in elevation than Homer itself.  At the top of this ridge, is a "point of interest" with a large parking area, beautiful plantings donated by the Homer Garden Club and that "million dollar view" that people come the world around to see for themselves.  I can't not stop.  I have seen the view more times that I could ever recount, but I have to see it again on this day.  It does not disappoint.  What does disappoint is my iPhone's camera's ability to capture the view with justice.  It is a great day for viewing as Kachemak Bay is also haze free and the mountains feel ten times closer than they appear in the camera lens.  I assure you, it is fabulous.  My squinty-eyed selfie is testament to the sun and brightness of the day.  The break and the view was nice but I can't come this far without going to "land's end" and the end of the Homer Spit.  

Now I glide down "Homer Hill" into town and take the Homer city bypass and go directly out to the Homer Spit.  The term "spit" must sound strange to people who don't live here.  The "spit" is a narrow strip of land that extends into the bay, the Homer Spit being about 7 miles long.  It really shouldn't be there but for some reason it is and it makes for a great harbor, charter fishing boats, sea food restaurants, and little shops that sell hand made fuzzy sweaters and tie dye shirts.  It is a great destination and come July at peak season, it will be teeming with tourists.  I don't have any reason to linger except to take in the view, so I stop briefly at the end of the spit to take another inadequate picture.

 It is somewhat past dinner time and my hunger is making itself less easy to ignore so I decide to sate myself cheaply since I don't like to spend much on a big meal eating alone.  McDonald's chicken tenders it is.  Now you may wince at that choice, but again, the Homer McDonald's has probably the best view of any McDonald's anywhere.

I relax and slowly eat my chicken tenders and cruise a little Facebook and let my saddle weary backside catch a break.  First rides are always a little bit that way.  I know by the time I get home I will really be looking forward to getting off the Ultra.

As I step outside, I immediately sense that the air temperature is falling.  It was only 54 degrees at the peak of the day so anything less than that is going to feel a bit chilly.  I don my heavier gloves and my neck warmer in addition to my other riding gear and power out of the McDonald's parking lot.  I begin to ascend Homer Hill and run my gears to their best effect.  I love the power to weight ratios on big cruising bikes, you feel the mild g-forces set you back in your seat and you fly up the steep hill in what seems like a lighter than air moment.

The temperature certainly has fallen but I feel pretty good in my increased layers.  The return trip home is smooth and almost traffic free, something that will be increasingly less so in the weeks to come as the ponderous motorhomes and pickup trucks hauling boats will crowd the insufficient Sterling Highway.  By the time I turn into my driveway, the sun is still high overhead at 8 pm.  I love the land of the midnight sun!

I back the Ultra into its spot in the garage and begin to unwrap myself from the layers of leather and  polar fleece.  I feel satisfyingly at peace with the world.

Riding To Hope

It was one of those days where I had a couple of options, do something I felt obligated to do on my day off or something I wanted to do.  The summer of 2017 hasn't been a banner summer on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula.  Lots of less than stellar days and the few really nice days more often seem to occur on days I was, well, obligated to something that was not my first choice.  This morning the sun was out, the temperature was agreeable and I had to choose.

June and July had flown by in mere moments it seemed.  Here it was the closing days of July and I hadn't really done anything that celebrated the summer much.  Staring out the window asking myself, "what's it gonna be?" I dug down deep and stared obligation in the eye and didn't blink.  I am going for a ride.  Obligations aside, I am going to do something for me today.  I feel the need for this.

Wasting no time once the decision was made, I topped off my Harley Ultra Glide, reset the trip meter and donned my leathers.  I rolled that heavy road bike out of the garage and pressed the starter button and with a cough that 96 cubic inch V-Twin broke into that world famous shaking rumble as it began to warm up.  I pulled on my gloves, fastened my helmet and put on my sunglasses.  Sitting astride the Ultra I pulled the clutch lever all the way in, tapped the gear shift lever and heard the clunk that lets you know you are in gear.

I am on my way, not sure of my destination yet, but as I make my way through Soldotna I decide I will ride north as I rode south to Homer on the only other local ride of the summer.   I think through the possible destinations I could make going north.  As I make my way through the dip netter traffic in Soldotna, I mentally cross Seward off the list of possibilities since I was there last week on another trip in my car.  Anchorage is a little far than would be practical and Portage or Girdwood would mean I might have to deal with the motor homes and boat trailers all day.  Hope.  Hope it is.  I haven't been to Hope in a few years and that is where I decide to go.

Hope isn't much of a destination mind you.  It is the road that beckons.  Less traffic, more bends and turns, beautiful scenery make the journey an attractive one.  I am in the mood.

I maneuver through the ponderous caravans of elephant-like motor homes traveling at the speed of turtles, eventually pass pickup trucks towing boats of all types, most of the boats sprouting recently used dip nets waving in the wind like flags and at last I am at the head of the pack with nothing but highway in front of me.  I like to be in front mostly because it is the safest place to be.  Traveling behind one of those skyscraper high motor homes is like staring at a block wall for hours.  You can't see ahead and detect problems, road conditions or brake lights or things of this nature.

I ease the throttle up through the last two gears of my bike and I pull away from the pack.  For awhile.  Until I catch up with the next caravan of ponderous motor homes.  I am patient and keep my place in line until we eventually reach the community of Cooper Landing.  I love riding my bike through Cooper Landing.  It is right on the banks of the upper Kenai River.  The flora thrives through this corridor and the fragrance of the leaves, grass and wild flowers is a pungent, pleasant aroma.  I open the face shield of my helmet as I ride and breathe in deeply.  It is almost intoxicating.

What comes up not far from Cooper Landing is one of the best sections of highway for a bike rider on the Peninsula.  I do not want to ride it behind a stodgy line of lumbering vehicles.  I am going to employ a trick to enable me to ride this section of the highway as it was meant to be ridden.  I am going to pull off the highway and wait for about 10 minutes.  If I can get it right, we have at least that much of a lead on the caravan I passed early on and it will give enough time for the line of slow moving cars I am behind now a chance to be clear of the section of road I want to indulge myself in.

Besides, pulling off at Cooper Landing is a treat in itself.  The day is extraordinarily beautiful and the river is its usual turquoise, glorious self.  I enjoy the subtle breeze, the fragrance wafting by and the chance just to sit and take in sights people come from the far flung corners of the world to gaze upon.  It is a cherished moment.

I spend a little longer than I planned and decide to get back to the road.  I pull back onto the Sterling Highway and congratulate myself.  I am a genius.  There is no traffic in sight.  I cross the Kenai Lake bridge and round the bend that continues to follow the shore of the lake.  I enjoy every unobstructed curve and bend in the road.  It was glorious.  I pass Sunrise, a even smaller community with a restaurant and gas pump where the way north breaks into two lanes.  I pass the few cars that are in front of me with ease and continue on to the Hope Cutoff which now is not far away.

At the end of the Sterling Highway there is an intersection with the Seward Highway.  At that intersection is one of the most striking viewing areas anywhere.  Tern Lake fills this small spot that is surrounded by tall peaks on every side.  I want to stop, but most of the caravan I was trailing before has pulled off and I assume  will be getting back on the road soon.  I decide I will enjoy the views on my return trip.

I make my stop at the intersection, look both ways and pull onto the Seward Highway heading north and uphill.  I wind through the gears again and find my sweet spot between speed and rpms.  I may sound like I am some kind of speed demon to you.  I am not.  I am over going fast.  Even when I am taking corners and curves I find the best balance between speed and the abilities of my bike.  After all, I am not riding a Japanese crotch rocket, I am riding a heavy touring bike and it rides best when you aren't pushing it to its limits all the time.  I will say that I tend to find the "sweet spot" of my cruising somewhere north of posted speed limits, but not too far north.

I pass upper Summit Lake and then Lower Summit Lake.  I am nearing the area that once was a gold mining community called Sunrise but now does not exist.  I gear down and make my turn from the Seward Highway on to the Hope Cutoff.  I am smiling behind my full face helmet.  This little road, only 16 miles long is a bikers dream.  Low on traffic, scenic, tight, twisty and full of that pungent fragrance that only overgrown brush on the sides of the road can produce.  Plus, there are lots and lots of signs like this:

I am in heaven.  There are no vehicles of any size in front of me which allows me the luxury of taking those serpentine curves at my discretion unhindered.  This is so rare for this to ever happen.  I indulge myself once again.  Near mile 14 or so, the views become amazing.  I have to stop and look as rubber necking just cannot do justice to what can be seen.

The views are of Turnagain Arm, a treacherous body of water that is long, narrow and shallow.  Turnagain Arm is 21 miles long.  It has so much water to move between low and high tides that the currents are quite dangerous.  I have seen stranded whales and have read terrifying accounts of loss of life of people who ventured out onto the quicksands at low tides.  Often the incoming tide will come as a miles wide wave, two or more feet high.  This is known as a "bore tide" which occurs only two places in the entire world.  I park the bike in a pull out and clamber over a guardrail to gain a better vantage to take some photos with my entirely inadequate iPhone camera.  I am rewarded with ripe raspberries secretly hiding below the tall brush.  I eat all I can find and enjoy superbly ripe wild raspberry flavor.  So good.

I am nearing the community of Hope so I take the next couple of miles slower.  Hope is one of many "end of the road" destinations on the peninsula.  I don't know if people who live in more developed civilization can relate to this.  Several communities on the peninsula are at the end of the road, meaning you can't drive anywhere else from where you are.  The road just simply ends.

I drive to the end of the road and a simple sign declares you are there.  Just beyond the "End" sign is a campground.  For whatever reason, in the few times I have been to Hope in the past, I have never taken the time to investigate this campground.  What I find is perhaps the most scenic campground I have ever visited in the state of Alaska.  It has to be in the top 5 anyway.  There are many designated camping spots with phenomenal views, most of them available.

I am amazed I have never really heard how good this campground is.  Maybe no one else knows of it either?  It is the best kept secret as far as I am concerned.

I make my campground survey complete and head into Hope.  Not far from the end of the road is the only "gas station" I can find.  My suspicion is that they don't sell a lot of gas in Hope.  I wonder where the residents run for gas as Hope is a long way from the next nearest gas station.  I am glad the range on my Ultra will get me the 200 miles from home and back without filling up.

This gas station reminds me of many gas stations I knew as a kid growing up in pre-pipeline era Alaska.  The tank truck looks like it may have been new during the Eisenhower administration.

I continue into town.

Hope claims to be "the best preserved gold rush era town in Alaska."  It just might be.  Through the main part of town are many period buildings, well maintained and many of them year around residences.  The lawns are well kept and most of them have historical plaques with their histories and dates of origination.

I come around "B" street to Main Street and head to the business district of Hope.

There are a few tourists here.  Hope gets a strong run of "pinks" or "chum" salmon in the Hope river that runs through town.  No self respecting Alaskan would actually fish for pinks, they are only accidental by-catch that are hastily returned to the water with as little touching the fish as possible.  Alaskans detest the soft, pale flesh, the slimy, slimy, slimy nature of the fish and to many Alaskans who tend to be salmon snobs, they stink. Tourists?  They don't care.  The pinks bite rabidly, put up a heck of a fight pound for pound and the supply seems endless.

Even if you don't like to fish for pinks, the views will make you want to stay for a week.  I wish my iPhone camera could do the views justice.

I am hungry.  The Discovery Cafe is the only game in town today, today being Monday.  All the other eating establishments are not open.  That's OK, the Discovery Cafe had a killer bacon cheeseburger the last time I visited AND they make homemade pie.  I am set for some of that.

I walk inside and pick up a menu.  The place has changed hands since I was here last.  The menu now offers "quiche" and "lemon grass salad."  No bacon anything in sight.  Fortunately the host is occupied with a customer and I slip out without trying any quiche.  I decide I will eat later.  I start my bike again and head out of town and back up the Hope Cutoff.

The return trip south has less traffic than on the way in.  The other lane heading north, is one unending line of traffic.  The weekend warriors are heading home.  I am glad I was ahead of that bunch.  I press on and near the Sterling Highway intersection I pull off one more time to try to squeeze Tern Lake into the tiny lens of my iPhone.

The sun is at the wrong angle so I don't get any drama but hopefully you get the idea.  I am still a little hungry so I plan on pulling off at the one stop everyone pulls in at in Cooper Landing, Wildman's.  It is actually just a sort of rural Alaska 7/11.  Wildman's does have the best rest rooms between Soldotna and Anchorage so it is popular with the wives which is excellent marketing genius from Mr. Wildman.

I select chicken fingers and a coffee which comes to 8 bucks.  I would rather eat chicken fingers than quiche and pay less too.  I savor the coffee and contemplate the day.  Good decision to make this ride today.  I probably won't get a finer day to do this until next summer.

Memorial Day Ride - 2017 Part 7

The Last Day

I awake refreshed from a hard night of sleep and quickly stow my stuff.  This drill is getting shorter each time as everything is very familiar by now.  I ascend the stairs out of the basement laden with my gear and deposit near the door as I detour and find the coffee already made.  Wade and Jack are sitting and drinking their morning libation.  I join them and Pastor Jason makes his appearance.  We chit chat about the trip and our last miles home.  We drain our cups and with just glances at one another, we signal it is time to load up and head to Fast Eddies.

Pastor Jason rides a on/off road bike which is very useful for the terrain in the Tok area.  It is what I would own if I lived here.  He puts his helmet on with us and it is seconds before we all arrive at the best breakfast place in town.  We enter and discover even now it is filled with locals and tourists.  We select a booth and the four of us squeeze in.  Since there is no car to leave our heavy leather coats in, we drape them over a nearby chair like usual.  

The omelets and pancakes and bacon all arrive and we dive in.  We talk of ministry in Tok, motorcycles, the experiences and about getting home today.  After eating, we wriggle out of the booth and retrieve our jackets.  It looks like it could rain today.  I switch out leather for rain jacket and layer up getting into my mismatched waterproof bag bungied to my back seat.  We say our thank yous to Pastor Jason which seem inadequate for all the first class treatment we have received.  It is time to get going and we all head to the Chevron station to fuel up.  

Topped off, we merge onto the highway, I don't know what is going on with my motorcycle, it seems like it has a mind of it's own.  It wants to run at top speed like a horse that senses it is headed to the barn.  I can't hardly make it slow down.  To discipline the Harley, I use the cruise control, the only thing that keeps it at a steady 70 mph.  At the junction, we choose the Tok Cutoff route.  I wince when I think of all the "road damage" we will have to negotiate today.  

We pass all the out of business road houses, lodges and gas stations in reverse order from when we came.  Soon enough the first "Road Damage" sign appears, the first of many.  Jack is leading, and I am second.  We spread out so when slowing up for the "loose gravel" we don't ride up on the person in front of us too close.  Speed up, slow down, speed up, slow down.  It is the Tok Cutoff true to form.  It goes on for about an hour.  We round a sharply bending corner on one of these damaged sections at the usual 35 mph.  Jack is far enough ahead that he is nearly out of the loose gravel when a monster of a motor home, the kind with front windshields that look taller than an average height man and a half dozen doors on the side to the "basement".  It is also towing what a rental car company would call a "full size sedan".  The driver is not making use of the 35 mph advisement signs posted for the road damage section.  He enters the loose gravel at what I estimate to be 60 mph and there is literally (and I do mean literally in the literal sense) an explosion of "gravel" flying through the air.  It is interesting to me how incredibly fast the mind works at times like this.  My eye spots what looms as a fist size piece of loose gravel, it traces the arc of trajectory and sends the information to my brain.  My brain calculates that yes, I am going to intersect with the arc of that loose piece of gravel.  I have enough spare time to do two things, wonder what the damage to my bike will be and close my eyes and brace for the impact.  All of that in what must be milliseconds.  

The fist sized piece of gravel makes contact with my helmet with a resounding "WHACK!"  I also feel a stabbing pain in my left shin.  The face shield is now flapping stupidly detached from the impact side of my helmet.  I open my eyes a bit dazed and disoriented while still steering the Harley at 35 mph.  The driver of the monster sized motor home drives on none the wiser.  I exit the loose gravel and pull to the side of the road to collect my wits, do something about my face shield and look for damage on my bike.  Wade who catches up to me, pulls in behind me wondering what is wrong.  

I look at him through the dangling face shield and his eyes look puzzled.  We shut off the bikes and I remove my helmet trying to collect my thoughts.  We discover the shield is not broken but only detached from the hinge mechanism.  Wade knows how to reconnect it and compresses the little spring latch while I press the shield back on.  It works.  I rub my left shin realizing I must have caught another rock.  I am imagining that there must be damage to my bike somewhere.  I walk around front and miraculously there is none to be found.  I check the left side that was exposed to the flying gravel and still find no damage.  I am amazed and thankful that it was only my head that took the hit.  Honestly, had I not been wearing the helmet the flying missile would have undoubtedly knocked me out cold and / or taken out an eye.  I resolve that I will always wear a helmet which I have already resolved but I renew the resolve on the spot.  

After several minutes, Jack pulls up on the other side of the road and circles around to find out what is going on.  We discover that a rock has taken out the headlight on his bike, the glass smashed out.  All of the drama is over and I am sure it doesn't look like much to him.  I am fine but still a bit rattled from the whack on my helmet.  I can't wait to get done with the Tok Cutoff.  I look up the "Milepost" description of the Tok Cutoff on the website when I get home.  I have cut and pasted its description for your reading pleasure:

"Road conditions are generally good along the Tok Cutoff and Glenn Highway, with a number of improved sections of highway that have been or are in the process of being realigned and widened."

I don't know what Tok Cutoff they are talking about, but I disagree with the "generally good" part.

We finally reach the junction of the Tok Cutoff and the Richardson Highway.  We turn left and on to Glennallen.  By the time we reach Glennallen the stinging pain in my left shin has faded and I don't feel quite as rattled.  I regard all motor homes with caution from this point on.  

The home stretch lays before us.  After fuel and a vivid description to Jack and Wade of my little mishap we make plans for lunch at the Eureka Roadhouse.  It has rained lightly off and on ever since Tok but from Glennallen the overcast is higher and less dark looking south in our direction of travel.  We set off again and put the cruise controls on 70 mph to keep the bikes from running off with themselves.  

After the nastiness of the Tok Cutoff, the road out of Glennallen seems smooth and gentle.  In general, it is better than most of the Canadian road surfaces we have encountered.  I wonder what it would be like bike tripping in the lower 48 on the smooth blacktop that interconnects civilization down there.  I'll bet there aren't as many "Road Damage" signs posted on the side of the road.  

We get to Eureka in the estimated time and are surprised how busy the place is!  Pickups with large tires pulling trailers with multiple four wheeled side-by-sides are lined up for fuel.  Campers, motor homes (which I give an instinctive wide berth) and cars full of Memorial Day celebrators fill the parking areas.  The weather lifts a bit and blue sky is seen between the clouds.  We still have Sheep Mountain to pass through which for me never seems to not be raining or worse but the prospects of getting out of our rain gear is good.

The Eureka Roadhouse has a reputation for good pie.  I never get to sample it because I am usually too full from their bacon cheese burger.  I change my strategy.  Pie is what I want but I'll need something else to go with it.  I inquire about soups.  The waitress says, "well, we have a broccoli-cheese bacon, and..." I raise my hand and tell her, "you had me at bacon."  Wade  and I order broccoli-cheese bacon soup and it delivers on its promised goodness.  Jack opts for the chili.  I then order cherry pie, my all-time favorite, yes, I will have it heated and yes I will have it with ice cream.  Jack and Wade also order their pie and soon we are savoring the talents of the pie maker who provides these pies to the Eureka Roadhouse.  I really want another piece of pie, but I tell myself to be patient while I sip the rest of my coffee and let the message from my stomach slowly transfer its information to my brain that I actually am full.  If the message from my eyes to my brain and back is high-speed internet, the message from my stomach to my brain is dial-up modem.  It finally does make the connection and I decide against another piece of pie even as I continue to scrape the remaining traces of cherry pie sauce from the plate with my fork.  I would like to lick it clean but...

We exit the roadhouse and I begin to awkwardly remove my rain pants.  I don't want to remove my boots and bending over after lunch is hard with a full stomach.  Getting the elastic leg openings at the bottom of the pants over the huge and clunky bike boots is challenging.  About a half hour later I am stowing the hated rain pants away and looking forward to riding with just my leather chaps, jacket and my helmet.  Always wear a helmet.

To my surprise, the weather looking up to Sheep Mountain does not look too bad, about the same as Eureka.  There is quite a bit more traffic because of the holiday weekend but so far, most of it is headed out of town still while we head toward town.  We plan to take a final break somewhere in an hour or so before we head home.  

The weather only improves and we are riding in wonderful sunshine, far different from the nasty weather we had only a few days before on this very road.  The leaves are popping out and it is clear spring has sprung today on Sheep Mountain.  The curves are a bikers dream only sullied occasionally by slower traffic.  The road is narrow with  hard rock mountain side on the right side and a steep, no guardrail, no shoulder chasm to the left that descends far below to the Matanuska Glacier or the Matanuska River.  One would love to gawk at the scenery but with traffic and the curvy, narrow road, glimpses are all that can be managed.  We pass through the little towns that still show signs of life, Sutton and Chikaloon have found ways to stay in business and I applaud them.  We pull off as planned somewhere along this route to take our last break.

The weariness of the long distance, 5 day trip begins to be felt.  I don't know if you don't allow those thoughts earlier because you still have a long ways to go or if you just can't help it.  We realize that this will be our last conversation with Wade as when we get to Eagle River, he will be taking a different exit home and the plan is for me to stay with Jack and Ann Aiken one more night before I go home to Kenai tomorrow.  We shake hands with Wade and fall in behind him as he leads us out of the pull off and back on to the highway.  

We soon are passing the State Fairgrounds on the outskirts of Palmer.  The road finally breaks into four lanes and we pass through the traffic signals of Palmer without stopping and on to the Glenn Highway.  Traffic is moving briskly and we form up our stagger formation and tighten our spacing to help protect ourselves from  aggressive drivers.  We pass Eklutna and Mirror Lake knowing our exit will be soon.  Wade continues on and Jack leads me off the Glenn and into his neighborhood.  The garage door is open and Jack rides directly in and I park in the driveway.  I am not home, but it sure feels good to be home.  We pull off the leathers again and enter Jack and Ann's comfortable home.  I am kind of amazed that the one pair of jeans I have taken on this trip are still fairly presentable, no mustard or other issues that I have to explain have happened to these pants.  Because of all the showers we were able to take each night of the trip I don't smell too bad either, at least I don't think I do. 

I sit in a comfortable chair as Jack and I relate the details of the trip to Ann.  Did I mention the chair was comfortable?  The house was warm and I am pretty sure I involuntarily fell asleep mid sentence talking with Jack and Ann.  Honestly, I was in la-la land somewhere and enjoying every minute of it.  When I awake some time later, Jack has stowed all the stuff from his bike back to the places he stows it and Ann has dinner from her magical "Insta-Pot" ready and on the table.  I feel a bit of a goof for falling asleep on everyone as I am invited to share in the dinner.  It is excellent.  

I check the weather reports for the next day and notice that the rain is predicted to lift in just an hour and after that it is all sun.  After a warm meal and a snooze I feel up to the last 170 miles and three hours of riding that lay between me  and my Kenai home.  My wife, who was on a trip out of state when I began this adventure arrived home the day yesterday.  I decide to go for it as the light from the sun is constant and I feel rested.

I announce that I am heading home and thank Jack and Ann for hosting me so wonderfully.  I start my bike and head to South Anchorage via the Muldoon-Tudor Road route to avoid downtown.  I fuel off the Huffman exit and pull on the New Seward Highway.  There is one tremendous squall looming up ahead that I am hoping I can avoid but it looks to be directly in my path.  It is parked on the point of Turnagain Arm across the water and looks like a doozy.  It would be the kind of rain that flooded the earth in Noah's day.  I head across Potter's Marsh and we catch the edges of the downpour but are soon out of it by the time I get to Girdwood.  

I have been over this portion of the road so many times in my 35 years of living in south central Alaska  that the three hours go by in no time.  The weather continues to improve the further south I go.  Heading up the skinny road that connects Sunrise to Cooper's Landing demands dark sunglasses as the pitch puts you directly in line with the intense sun.  Soon I am back in the shadow of the mountains and shortening the distance between me and home.  As I pass through mile 74 I glance to the sides of the road hoping to catch sight of a little camera lost a few days before.  No luck.

I pass through Sterling, Soldotna, and on to Kalifornsky Beach Road.  I turn right on Ciechanski, left on River Hills and find myself pulling in to my driveway.  JoLynn is playing fetch with our grand-dog, Lulu, our son's poodle, on the front lawn.  I am home.  I am greeted by a barking, growling poodle who is alarmed at this monster clad in leather.  Assuring Lulu I am no threat I hug JoLynn and shuffle wearily into the garage to remove my riding gear for the last time.  I pull my dirty, road grimy Harley Davidson into the garage and leave it for the next day to unpack and stow the stuff.  

Just before I go into the house, I check the trip meter.  It reads: one thousand, nine-hundred, forty-seven miles.