It’s been two months since our bikes have been left to patiently wait for our return. There was no spark in their metallic hearts as the starter motors spun to no avail. A detectable scent of shame was mixed into exhaust fumes as we push started these finely engineered machines. I was expecting them to be a little more excited to hit the road.
As I rode my bike, it felt like I had a flat front tire. Once we’ve ruled out the obvious, all that’s left is worn steering stem bearings. Since we have installed Scotts steering dampers on our bikes, each of our WR250Rs had three steering bearings – two original parts deep in the steering stem, and a bearing from Scotts, which sits close to the outside with no meaningful dust protection.
No dust protection means it’s usually the one to bite the dust. By the time I notice such problems, they are on the verge of catastrophe. Which is to say, we had to act ASAP. I had the new bearing on hand and opted to have a local shop perform the transplant.
The day I was picking up the patient from the clinic was rainy and gloomy. I took an Uber there, and what worried me was not how soaked I’d get on the ride back. Rather, I worried if my trusty steed would awaken by itself or would I have to ask someone to give me a push. I had a lengthy chat about our trip with the infinitely friendly guys in the shop, and it would have been most inappropriate if just as they bid me farewell and good luck on the rest of my journey, my motorbike would stutter and play dead as I pushed the starter. I donned all my rain gear, carefully wheeled the machine outside, thought about it a moment, pushed it just a little further out of direct view of the doors, and pressed the button. After a moment of hesitation the engine sprung to life. So sorry I ever doubted you, dear. Off we go into the wet Vancouver.
The maintenance wish list is a never ending affair. Thankfully, I have little Mario, and Alex has Luigi. When issues come up, we add them to the list. Mario and Luigi get to work on them as soon as we stop for the day. When we wake up – BAM, it’s done and ready to roll!
Then I wake up for real. For the second ride, Alex’s motorcycle requires a push to start, again. There is no Mario, there is no Luigi. To cope with the embarrassment we focus on flushing brake fluid, changing air filters and any other mundane task. Perhaps it’s a case of cabin fever. A longer ride should cure it all. Any day now.
One of these mundane tasks was installing neoprene dust covers for our suspension. After the fiasco with the leaky rear shock in Alaska, it seemed like a good idea to avoid having such issues in the future. There will be a lot of dust in the future, assuming we get moving soon. Otherwise there will be only snow and ice.
Another item we have been desperate to get our paws on was the Gnoblin accessory for the luggage. The part was out of stock for many months, but finally arrived. It replaces three straps at the back of the Mosko luggage with a single mount point. It required a surprising amount of drilling and cutting to get it installed, and we have yet to decide if we really like it. So far, my main concern is that its name sounds like goblin, which if you squint looks like gremlin. We don’t like gremlins on our motos.
It was past Canadian Thanksgiving, winter was coming fast. As the days got progressively shorter and colder, we had to wrap things up and ride on before major snowstorms strike. Instead of pointing straight south from Vancouver, a route we did several times, we headed east, along highway 3. Like a broken record, Alex’s bike creaked and croaked but did not produce the melodic thumping sound of a single cylinder engine running on all cylinders until it got a good push. You’d think we’d think to troubleshoot it further at that point. No, we twisted the throttles and left town with our tails up.
Under a different set of conditions I would describe highway 3 as scenic and a pleasant ride. With temperatures in low single digits Celsius, it was hard to extract any pleasure out of it. The roads were clear, but snow was already sitting on the trees and creeping ever closer to the pavement. Picturesque, yes, but my fingers were too numb to take pictures.
Our aim for the day was the home of fellow riders in Oliver. The most fun part of the ride was a shortcut through the mountains, Fairview Road. Linking Keremeos to Oliver it was short and sweet, a dirt road that allowed us to slow down and warm up.
We spent a lovely evening with our hosts, Shawn and Cecilia, who were happy to hear we opted for the Fairview road instead of the long boring loop on highway 3. It is always a pleasure to meet up with interesting people and share stories, riding and otherwise.
As the morning came, we had breakfast together, and did not rush out the door. It was freezing outside and we hoped to give the sun an opportunity to melt some of the frost first. It was almost 10 am by the time we got on the bikes and were ready to leave. The bitter cold night did not help the engine starting situation. The starter button was useless, but the house was uphill from the road, so the bike started as it rolled down. We began to suspect a faulty battery (it was a lithium one, not lead acid), but the expansive views of the Okanagan Valley and the moody morning fog distracted us from that problem.
On our hosts’ suggestion, once in the United States, we stopped by the Old Molson Ghost Town Museum. It is an old pioneer town, but augmented by putting the historical buildings closer together for ease of access, and with tons of curious artifacts collected inside. At only 3 km south of the 49th parallel, a while back this used to be a border town, although no active roads remain that would connect the two countries here. There was snow on the ground and temperatures were low enough than neither of us had any desire to take off our helmets. We explored the site astronaut-style, with all protective gear on, and continued riding, wondering if the day would get any warmer as we moved south.
