Dan's Travel Adventures

As we leave Stewart on 37A, heading for 37, we are treated to several vistas we missed on the way in – perhaps because of fatigue or just the perspective of traveling in the opposite direction. Whatever the reason, we see waterfalls that start very high in the peaks and travel in stages to the nearly sea-level ground where we are. They are breathtaking, and each would provide days of exploration and wonder, but to travel 13,000 miles in 45 days means this is one of many compromises we make, every day. We are lucky that on most days, we are in general agreement about what is worth stopping to explore, and what must be admired through the lens of speed and distance.

Route 37 eventually comes to Route 16 as we head for Prince George. Route 16 is a stunner. We climb steadily, and the elevation changes mandate the curves. You can’t build roads straight over mountains, and it’s costly and time consuming to blast or drill through, so you build a road that follows the terrain, ever ascending and dropping, winding back and forth along the edge of the mountain. An engineer has decided on a level of incline acceptable to school buses, heavily laden dump trucks and grandma’s Dodge Dart, even if the roadway were to be covered in snow. Then a traffic engineer measures for the areas that said Dodge Dart can safely pass said school bus, and they stripe the center line accordingly. Of course, our two wheeled mounts have significant power-to-weight advantages over almost all vehicles on the road, so our safe passing distances are much shorter than the lowest-common-denominator striping accounts for. Something to keep in mind the next time some “maniac” goes around you on a mountain pass and disappears around the next bend. Such things look aggressive from the quiet, docile interior of a sedan, but it’s just easy tooling along for a bike.

As 16 descends, then levels out, it begins to run along the valley of the range, which is also where the water collects and runs. So many great riding roads come down from the mountains and run along a valley, next to a river. It’s a universal truth in our world, driven by the fact that our natural world is a largely inalterable presence, and we build what we need within the constraints of that truth. A wonderful byproduct for riders, we are treated to scene after scene of beautiful lakes, peaking through the trees as the sun moves across the sky, and we head further along our journey. We stop at a turn off to grab a picture and hold off lunch with a quick snack.

At the stop, we hear a pack of riders approach, and I know immediately, miles before they are visible, one of the bikes is an Aprilia Tuono, with a modified exhaust. The gear-head in me is stimulated by the sound – unmistakably Italian, thrilling, erotic. The name implies it; Tuono is Italian for Thunder. The rider is skilled, judging from the pitch at which he keeps the engine on boil. The pack rips past, and I am momentarily tempted to run after them, join the fracas, try to keep up. That type of riding brings laser-like focus and demands you move all other thoughts and life distractions to the background. Pupils dilate, breathing quickens, heartrate increases. It’s thrilling, and I am in my element when I summon it.

I quickly decide this is a bad idea…I have so many miles to go and I am on the wrong machine to run that pace (GelandeStrasse doesn’t evoke the same eroticism as Thunder). My brief pleasure is not worth the risk of the longer, slower love affair I am having with the road and my travels.

As they pass, I am also reminded that the parts of me that are not gear-headed are a little unhappy that this machine disturbs so much of nature, for miles around. It’s a noise I appreciate, but it’s noise, nonetheless. Like this ribbon of roadway over the mountains and along the water, perhaps we could all do with a bit more following the natural terrain, disturbing the least amount possible, and a bit less “look at me”?