THE RUGGED little piglet saw the journey through. We rolled up the brick walkway to the front porch last night after 79 days out, 14,522 miles. Not my longest time out, but it scratched the itch.
Funny how it all catches up to you when the end is in sight; when you’re free to take a step back, let down your guard, and see how the road has put the boots to you.
I was so road punchy in the home stretch yesterday I went 100 miles out of my way on familiar ground between Albany and Cranston, if you can believe that. Zombie-like I rode US 9 thinking it was MA 9, all the while knowing this just… doesn’t look right.
And then I’m Where? Poughkeepsie? I should be in Worcester by now.
This morning I was up with the sun, as if still on the road. Had breakfast then went back to sleep. And really needed it.
I was in Kenora, Ontario the last time I reported in. Then came the ride over the top of the Great Lakes. I camped in Marathon, Ontario, on Lake Superior; Thessalon, on Lake Huron; Petawawa, on the Ottawa River; finally, Peck’s Lake, in the southern Adirondacks of New York.
It’s good to be home at the humble manse, enjoying the company of family. Little D1D1 is an inch taller than the day I left. Her baby sister is eyes-up on tummy time and about to crawl.
Zuzu the girl cat is intensely sniff-sniff-sniffing at every piece of gear I lugged into the house. Strange Arctic odors to be savored.
It feels awfully civilized to sit in a chair and write these words at a desktop. No more squatting out in the weeds with a laptop.
A rainy stretch of road east of Thunder Bay. I pulled under a metal roof at a rest stop to make a cup of hot chocolate.
Preheating the gasoline stove.
The fuel tube gets hot enough in this sooty yellow flame to vaporize liquid gasoline into a gas. Then it burns clean with a blue flame, much like a natural gas range in a kitchen.
I usually cook with denatured alcohol. I bought a gasoline stove for the run to the Arctic Ocean only because it’s nice to always have cooking fuel aboard in a wilderness (if you’re all out of gasoline you’ve got bigger problems than cooking) but the stove has one big disadvantage: it’s on or off, full blast or nothing; you can’t simmer anything on low.
There’s no such thing as a bad ride along the north shore of Lake Superior.
It’s bright blue skies then deep fog, then blue, then fog… It’s like the Pacific Coast Highway south of San Francisco, but often with a colder cast to the Earthbound clouds.
You’re riding along on a glorious summer day then all of a sudden the world looks more like a gray winter afternoon.
A few miles later it’s summer again, then winter, then summer…
And so it goes.
She don’t plant taters
She don’t plant cotton
She just keeps rollin on
Rolled into Marathon, Ontario and wolfed down a couple of chicken cutlet sandwiches at a food truck.
Marathon’s a working town, where the real people live. It doesn’t have the touristy feel you start to get farther south on the Lakes, closer to Sault Ste. Marie. The Soo as the locals call it. That’s Soo, rhymes with zoo.
Marathon was a paper mill town until a decade ago. Now the biggest employer is the gold mine. The guy who works the grill on the truck is a miner, his wife works the window. He said something like 700 men and women work down below. They’re down almost a mile, 4,700 feet. “It’s like a city down there.”
There used to be three gold mines around Marathon. Two have shut down just like the paper mill.
Next morning. I did an oil change out behind the Napa building in Marathon. The Napa guys were happy to lend me a drain pan, none of the drama staged by my Harley brothers in North Dakota.
A maintenance guy reporting for work at the hospital next door noticed me wrenching out there in the weeds. He walked over to ask whether I needed to borrow any tools to get going again.
Petawawa was interesting. It’s a military town. You can’t tell where the town ends and the base begins.
I was hunting for a place called Black Bear Campground, got turned around, pulled over to talk to a soldier walking down the street. Where am I? He grinned and told me I was on the base. Funny, I hadn’t ridden by a guardhouse, or through a checkpoint.
So let me see if I understand correctly: there’s a campground open to the public on the base?
There is, he said, and told me how to find it.
Set up your tent anywhere near an American military base and someone in olive drab might be checking you out through a rifle scope. And then there’s Canada, eh? No doubt the 2 ASG Commander’s wifi password is posted on a bulletin board somewhere.
When traveling through Canada, keep reminding yourself it’s a foreign country. Whenever you talk to a Canadian about the things that surprise you up here, they shrug and say: “It’s Canada!”
It’s almost always said happily, but one of my fellow campers on the base said it with an edge of old-man grievance. On the open-base policy in Petawawa, he declared, “We don’t try to keep terrorists out—we invite them in!”
Ah. Glib political hyperbole. Now that I recognize, as an American.
It jumps out at you in Canada. Down here, it seems more like the core of who we’ve become.
From my camp in Thessalon, Ontario, on the north channel of Lake Huron.
End-of-day travels on the back roads of New York. State Route 5 through the Mohawk Valley.
After dark I got some vague where-to-camp directions from a convenience store clerk in the village of Fonda. Then a cab driver outside the store said I should try this other place, a state campground.
I went looking for it on a dark road in the Adirondacks, slightly dicey given that piglet comes with the kind of headlight that helps oncoming traffic see you in the daytime. After dark, it’s useless. I should have put a high-powered aftermarket light on the bike before setting out in May but… didn’t get around to it.
On the darkest road you can imagine, I was doing 15mph under the limit, and instead of blowing by my elbow at speed some thoughtful driver stayed behind me for the longest while. He or she lit up the road ahead for the both of us.
I never found the place I was looking for, but saw a sign for camping at a marina on a private lake. Peck’s Lake. So that’s where I set up my tent on the journey’s final night.
What’s next for the piglet? Dunno yet. I’ve done the three big wilderness rides in North America. As you know, the big iron piggy is my preferred mount. So will I ever need this sort of piglet bike again?
I bought the piglet to go to South America with ol’ CCjon from Houston, an idea that just keeps finding novel ways of not happening. Now, with more experience on a dual sport, I’m not convinced the piglet is the bike I’d choose to take to South America.
She’s a rugged ride, all right—even indestructible. Still, I’m far from sold on thumpers.
The DR650 is pretty much a disposable motorcycle. They don’t cost much new, and nobody buys them for the resale value. Used hard or hardly used, they come cheap.
I may do her up right, with proper aftermarket suspension fore and aft, better bars, better pegs, better everything. Or I may just sell her (that is, give her away) to someone else who wants to ride the Trans Labrador, the Dempster and the Dalton.
I’m likely to find some Arctic odds and ends to tell you about when I go through my journal in a few weeks. Until then, I’ll be busy playing catch up on things around here.
Thanks, all, for following the scribble these recent months.
Tony DePaul, August 10, 2019, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
So glad you made it home in one piece, though I’m now going to miss my weekly dose of inspiration. I’m writing this from a van fast approaching the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Let’s see if I can summit on the roof of Africa in three nights’ time. If I do I’ll remember you and Pam way above the clouds.
Fantastico! Photos, please.
Pretty awesome trip and equally great travelogue!!! Thanks a ton for sharing your ride and experiences with us!
Great to hear that you are back safe and sound (few pounds lighter though)… If you are not pointing the front wheels Southward, then point them Eastward now … just a suggestion… I will love to see the other part of world through your eyes and travelogues.
Keep on keeping on… RideSafe
Prasad
p.s. If no one else suggests, I will like to suggest VStrom650. It’s 650cc V-Twin Suzuki, it does everything well enough and nothing exceptional apart from the bulletproof motor, which never quits. Being twin cylinder and liquid cooled, it holds better on and off pavement. One can buy one cheap and sell of again easily.
Thanks for the good word, Prasad.
True, the wee strom is a capable bike, I saw lots of guys riding them up north. They absolutely need to be equipped with a skid plate; the forward cylinder and the oil filter are extremely vulnerable on rough terrain.
Iron Man Nestor, my friend from Colombia, rode his wee strom a trouble-free 28,000 miles last year: from Colombia south to Tierra Del Fuego, then north to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, then south to Houston, Texas.
KTM 790 Adventure. That’s your ride, bro.
I wasn’t aware of that one, D, but yeah, smaller-displacement dual-sport twins, clearly the way the trend is going. Honda was out first with the 750 Africa Twin, Guzzi ditched the big Stelvio for the 850 V85TT, Yamaha’s adding the 700 Tenere…
Funny, every injured rider I heard about in the Yukon or the Northwest Territories was on a KTM, mostly the 1290. You look at KTM’s website and they mostly pitch to guys who want to ride gravel at interstate speed. So the guys who go up the Dempster with that mindset, stars of their own personal KTM commercials, they’re the ones most likely to get medevac’ed out to the trauma center at Yellowknife; or, if not hurt in a life-threatening way, they get put in the next pickup or RV headed south from Inuvik for a painful day’s ride down to the emergency room in Whitehorse.
The 1200-and-up twins are too heavy. Ewan and Charley went around the world picking them up off their sides as much as riding them.
And Harley’s new-to-market PanAm is what? A 1250? Aw jeezus…
Yeah buddy, its all about weight/power/comfort and finding that sweet spot that brings it all in. The big Adventure bikes over a liter size are really street bikes that have a “look” and can do gravel/dirt roads very fast. But they are heavy, don’t take hits from potholes well, and when they get out of shape – they’re gone/crashed. However, they are delightful on the highways. Having been doing off-road now for over 50 years, lighter is better, but that thumper is a torture rack – dunno how you persuaded your body to ride all those highway miles on a DR650.
That new KTM is 419 lb, which is no lightweight, but about 130 lb less than a BMW GS so that’s huge. 94 HP means plenty of go, and 9.5″ of suspension travel on both ends is perfect. Just don’t break down, because KTM parts don’t come fast even when you live in an East Coast City. Still, if I were headed on the route you just took, that would be my ride from the current offerings.
Tony, welcome home! I so enjoyed reading of your adventures and the photos were great.
Betty
Thanks, Bett. I hope to see you soon at one of Gino’s West Bay lunch outings.
A very interesting blog of a fascinating journey. Can’t be many people who have ridden as far north as you have, a real accomplishment. It’s been great reading it, with all the detail, perhaps you should publish it as a travel guide! Thanks for sharing your adventure.
ps love what you do with the Phantom.
Thank you, Bill. Glad you enjoyed the road reports. I’m not sure I have the next Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in me but will give it some thought.
I was supposed to be working on a novel while riding to the Arctic Ocean and back. Of course, I got nothing done on that. Just getting down the road every day consumes the entire day: setting up camp, breaking camp, making meals, all that.
I remember journeys where I’d fall asleep in wet clothes while chewing dinner’s second or third bite. But there’s an upside: when you open your eyes in the morning “breakfast” is already made and the spoon is even in your hand!
Welcome back, Tony!
Thanks, Bruiser’s big brother.
Well done Tony, that’s a big achievement covering that distance alone. You must come over and ride Oz some day soon
Thank you, Glen. Bob speaks highly of everything you did to help set up his own travels in Australia.
What’s next for you? Is there any part of the world you haven’t ridden yet?
Great ride and need to see you again. Panama should be on yer next trip.
Panama and points south, hmm… well, not crazy impossible, just mostly impossible. At least in the last four years it has seemed to be.
Welcome back, Tony. Was happy to read your adventures didn’t get the best of you.
Thanks, Bullet Bob. A fair number of riders on the Dempster went home without their bikes, so yeah I feel lucky to have piloted myself home.
Glad to see you back!
Thanks, man. Long road out & back.
Glad you made it back home safe and sound Tony, you took some fantastic pictures. Bronson you are, and you’re both my heroes. Since you are well in advance on The Phantom, I hope you have him out of the mess he is in safe and sound too. You gotta keep my man safe, the jungle still needs #21.
Live Large, and ride safe, brother of the wind. Old Jungle Saying.
Terry
Ah. You just made me look up today’s strip, Terry. It leaves my hands so far in advance of the publication date I tend to lose track of what’s going on.
Yes, that does look like a tight spot he’s in.
Congratulations! Thanks for sharing your incredible odyssey. Critical visceral fodder for us office bound schlunks.
Thanks, Jon. As you know from your own travels, Little Rhody stands up well. It’s got a weirdness that grows on you, and has its own unique appeal no matter where you roam. It’s good to be back.
Tony, thanks for sharing your travels. You are my hero!
Ha! Thanks, Claire.
Funny, but hero was the last word that came to mind when I got out of my grubby road rags and stood in front of a mirror for the first time in a couple of months. It was more like, oh good grief, I’m becoming my own Muppet.
So glad you are home safe and almost(?)sound. Thanks for the great stories and beautiful pictures.
Thanks, Laurie. I heard about Russell’s big news. I’m sure he’d like a Fig Newton cake at the wedding.
So glad you are home and enjoying your family looking forward to your next adventure! j
Thanks, Jody. Yep, it’s good to get home in one piece. I’m not sure what I did to my right collarbone but it’s the kind of thing that feels better in a month if you get it checked out, if you don’t see the doc it takes more like four weeks.
It’s uncomfortable but wasn’t a problem riding. Kinda like a pebble in your boot: it won’t kill you but you sorta wish it wasn’t there.
Is funny how our mind works during those last 3-4 hours of a long ride… aah, not worth the effort to set up camp when we’re so close to home, Let’s keep rolling…
Am sure the family are all glad you are back home, happy to see you, baked lasagna, eh? Can’t beat that.
Good to know about the gasoline camp stove being either all on or all off.
Piglet’s future? Well you bought cheap, didn’t leave you stranded anywhere, easy and inexpensive to maintain, sell cheap… got your money’s worth back in miles ridden and adventures experienced. Too bad the HD people looked down on her, they have no idea what all the Piglet can do.
Sell Piglet to buy a sidecar to hang on Iron Piggy. When not hauling more gear than you need across the country and back, take D1D1 and D1D2 for rides, even on snow and ice in the winter. A huge PLUS, never have a get off again.
Hey, amigo. Just for yuks I’ll get a sidecar-piloting lesson from you one of these years.
I think I’d feel like a sitting duck on a sidecar rig. I like the two-wheeled ability to swerve out of the way of oncoming traffic.
In British Columbia, an oncoming texter crossed the centerline and nearly hit a van that was traveling in my lane about 100 feet in front of me.
Sidecar passengers must be nervous, their coconuts sitting at bumper height.
Great ride and great reporting, Tony. Keith says hello.
d.
Thanks, Dave. Is Keith at your place in Maine?
Meant to tell you this before, when you were there: According to something I read a long time ago (probably on the copy desk), Kenora is an amalgam of three contiguous communities that merged: Keewatin, Norman and Rat Portage.
Lordy, at first glance I read that as Rat Porridge.
Awesome that you’re back indoors for a bit. Enjoy the family and home cooking, you’ve earned it. Most of all to us readers, thanks for sharing your journey. Sidebar: interesting about the deaths of the two killers. You were way too close to that.
I shed 15 pounds. It inspired the bride to bake a lasagna for lunch.