Now in an all too transparent but lame attempt at coming up with an excuse for the following, let me point out that the Concours is known by all its riders to be a rather top-heavy bike. And with an added auxiliary fuel tank mounted over the pillion seat, as well as a large GIVI tail trunk with a fairly heavy riding suit bungeed on top of it, Alcan Annie was definitely a well-stacked lady.
After a hearty breakfast, it was back onto the road, with the temperature around 25°F in the shade, and freshly fallen snow melting where the sun was hitting it. All in all, a beautiful day to be traveling. Once again heading southeast, I soon noticed a heavy gray snow cloud in the valley ahead of me. It seemed to be supported by the peaks of mountains on either side of the highway, and snow curtains could be seen draping themselves down to ground level. Sure enough, about 12 miles from Beaver Creek I found the first of the fresh snow on the pavement. Fortunately, the sun was hitting it with warm rays, and in the vehicle tracks there could be found a dab of wet pavement every foot or so. Thus, with speed reduced and cheeks firmly grasping the seat cover, I continued on to see how much worse it would get.
At the 18-mile mark I crossed the bridge labeled "Dry Creek #2" and then started up a mild grade at about 35-mph. Now for some reason I'd convinced myself, with no compelling evidence to back up the notion, that I'd be riding in snow for the next 50 or 60 miles. With that mindset, I began climbing this little incline thinking that I might just as well find out how well I could handle the deeper snow that I was sure I'd be riding in for the next hour or two. That's how I took my first ever (but not last) spill, and found myself sliding along next to my Concours, wondering how far I'd slide before coming to a stop.
After the shock of going down, hearing the sound of plastic and metal sliding over the snow-slicked pavement, and then the realization that my travels had come to a standstill, I was enduring a mixture of disappointment and disbelief that had me somewhat dazed for a few seconds. Crawling over to Annie as she lay on her side, calmly idling away, I hit the kill switch and then turned off the key. For what seemed like several minutes, I sat there in the snow, surveying the wreckage. As it slid along the highway, the bike had slowly turned end-for-end and was now facing back down the hill. Back that way was the Givi top case, which had broken the locking tab off the base plate. Up the hill, in the direction we'd been traveling, was the right side bag, lacking a chunk of the top rear inside corner. The right side Baker Air Wing was laying off to the side, and anonymous small bits and pieces were scattered around like kernels of corn in a chicken pen.
Not sure how long I spent just looking at the mess, and thinking that here, less than 300 miles into the riding season, I was stopped cold, unable to continue on this trip that I'd spent countless hours planning, anticipating, and working toward. But even before I got Annie back up on two wheels, the realization came that I didn't have to quit. Just the month before I had succeeded in mounting full Givi luggage on my trusty old Suzuki GS1100G, and the tires were at least good enough to get me to Seattle before I'd have to replace them. I could get the Connie hauled back to Beaver Creek, then hitch a ride home to Glennallen and get the Suzi. All that would be necessary after that would be to transfer my load from the Concours to the Suzuki and be on my way again. With luck, I'd lose no more than a day. With that positive thought in mind, I went to work at getting back on the road.
First, of course, it would be necessary to get Annie back on her feet. Off with the tank bag to make it a little lighter. Down with the side stand so I wouldn't find her falling onto the opposite side once I had her up again. Then back up to the bike, get a good hold, find some footing in the snow (the Sidi On-Roads are GOOD!), and HEAVE! Hmmm. The first foot went all right, but someone must have dropped some extra weight on it while my back was turned, as that was about as far as it wanted to come up. Okay, a little more preparation to give me time to think about what I was doing. Clean the snow away from the tires so they don't slip sideways as I'm lifting. Dig down to pavement a little better where my feet are placed so I can put all my effort into lifting. Find a good handhold on the auxiliary fuel cell for better leverage. Let's try this again. Trying to remember everything I've learned about lifting a fallen bike, I concentrate on keeping it moving once it starts, and this time it came all the way up, then over gently onto the side stand. Wow! It still looks like a Concours now that it's vertical again. The windshield is hanging by one screw, but I have enough extras (nylon, so they break off and save the windshield - and me) to replace the missing ones.
The right side damage is now visible and I take stock. My right hand driving light is history by the looks of it. Larry Buck's driving light mount is well made, but it isn't designed to be a roll bar, and has been re-arranged by the drop. The right mirror is bent back as it is designed to be when subjected to this mistreatment, but is unscathed otherwise. The right hand antler is broken halfway up the vertical leg of the "L" and the side bag won't stay attached. Doesn't matter, as the bag itself is too damaged to hang on the antler anyway.
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To get myself moving in the right direction, I tackle the easiest things first. Dig out the screws for the windshield and remount it. Now Annie is starting to look rideable once more. The tank bag goes back on. I put the tail trunk onto its base, and wonder how I can fasten it so it won't come off. I'm starting to get the idea that this isn't as bad as I'd feared. Maybe I can even continue. No fluids on the ground aside from a little gas that leaked out of the fuel cell, and I mentally redesign the vent to prevent that in case of future drops. Up to this time I hadn't even considered the possibility of personal injury, but now I examine that aspect. There's a little sore spot on my right elbow where I landed initially, and a tiny matching tear in my jacket sleeve to mark the location. One other little tear on my pants leg, but no other marks or soreness. At this time I had the presence of mind (barely) to shoot a quick photo of the GPS, giving time, location, and average speed and distance to this point. The temperature is up to about freezing now, and the snow cloud has moved on, leaving me in bright sunlight. It's far too warm for the snowsuit, so off it comes as I get down to business.
Shortly after I first got up on my feet a car zoomed past. The driver appeared to be an older lady, and I didn't blame her for continuing on down the road. She couldn't have helped much anyway. Then there were some northbound trucks, but they couldn't have seen me until they dropped over the hill and were headed downgrade, so stopping on the slick surface wasn't even an option for them. I'm sure they passed the word on to southbound drivers via CB so someone would stop soon. Sure enough, in a few minutes a pickup pulled in ahead of me and the driver came back to see if he could help. By that time I had things pretty well under control, but he had an unused strap with him that he offered, and it proved to be just what I needed to hold the tail trunk on for the next 3000 miles.
Next was an empty truck heading back south for another load of travel trailers. He stopped to see if there was anything he could do, but without a way of hoisting the bike up onto his trailer, there wasn't much of any way he could help. When he left, I noticed that he was never able to get over about 10 mph all the way up the hill. Maybe that was steeper and slicker than I'd estimated. (It was. With everything white it is difficult to judge an incline like that. Going back that way in June I stopped at the top of the previous hill to take a photo and realized that the one on which I had fallen was much steeper than it had looked on that ill-fated day.)
In previous trips I've sometimes found it necessary to temporarily carry some of my gear on top of the tail trunk, and for that reason carry a small cargo net made for the back of station wagons. A few straps from HelenTwoWheels are always along "just in case", as well as a couple of bungee nets. All these items came into play in the next few minutes as I tried to reassemble the broken side bag, and transferred some of the more vulnerable articles to the opposite side. Two hours after falling, Annie was tied together and ready to continue the trip. The pieces of driving light were in one of the side bags, the tail trunk was strapped on, the windshield was as good as new, and it was warmer now so snow was beginning to melt a little again. Airing the tires down - the front to 28 psi and the rear to 30 psi, I felt confident we could make it to the top of the hill and would decide my course of action based on what was found there.
Knowing I didn't want to experience a second fall, I kept the bike in first gear with my feet sliding along, ready to catch it, until near the top of the hill. Once on level pavement again, where the sun's rays had been able to do their work, I found more wet pavement, and despite my caution and concern soon found myself flying along at the ground-gaining speed of 35 mph. To my chagrin, within five miles I found the pavement to be nearly clear and only damp. Still a little leery of how my bandaging attempts would hold together, I held the speed down for a while. But when I got across the White River and hit the straight, smooth pavement in that stretch, I decided it was time to test my workmanship. Watching closely in the mirrors for any sign that my load wanted to part company, I eased the speedo on up to 60. With everything looking good, I slowed back down to a more sedate pace, pleased with the way things were looking.
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About 65 miles down the road I stopped at Kluane Wilderness Village, a combination gas station/restaurant/repair shop/motel/convenience store/whatever-else-you-might-need, like many along the northern Alcan, to buy some lightweight rope or cord. The only thing available was some 5/8" diameter polypropylene rope, in bright yellow. There are times you have to take what you can get, and this was one of those times. The rope was run over the mirrors and behind the windshield to hold the driving lights up, as they had been loosened by the fall, followed by the washboard gravel, and the mount was banging against the top of the fender on this washboard gravel. |
With the bike and load solidly fastened together once more, it was time to start making up for lost time. I'd had a meeting set up in Whitehorse with a fellow who was going to help man the checkpoint for the '02 Rendezvous and I had yet to see him face to face. That made it important that I get there before too late at night. With the tires deflated a bit, I didn't want to get too wild in the corners, but after stopping and checking them several times for heat, and carefully exploring their behavior, I felt confident in picking the speed up a few notches. As a result, I arrived in Whitehorse around 8:00 PM local time, and we were able to get together over a late dinner. At my request, Mike had brought along a partial roll of duct tape he had laying around the house, and my thoughts were becoming more positive all the time.
After saying our goodbyes, it was off to a motel for me for a good night's sleep, something I have never done before when riding down the Alcan. Seems the day had taken a bit out of me, and it was time to get a new start the next morning.
Monday, April 8, 2002 Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, Canada
It feels good to sleep in. When traveling like this, I let my body dictate the hours of rest, knowing that when I awaken naturally I'll be refreshed and ready to put in a long day. Thus it was that I barely made it out of the motel room by the 11:00 AM checkout time. The temperature had dropped to -22° C overnight according to the TV weather report, and I didn't mind letting the sun get a little head start before I went out and wiped the frost off the seat. By the time I got to the Petro Canada station 5 miles south of town, my digital thermometer was showing 18° F above, and it felt good. After topping off the main tank and the aux. fuel cell, I headed for a restaurant and some breakfast.
Entering the dining room I got a few strange looks (not the last time this would happen) and then sat down and enjoyed what, to me, is the most important meal of the day. About 12:25 I headed out to the bike, and got ready to see what the rest of the Alcan looked like this early in spring.
The previous night, in the motel room, I had emptied both side bags and spent almost an hour duct taping the right one back together to some degree of structural integrity. Along with straps to the passenger grab handle to help support the weight, there were straps fore and aft keeping it in place, so everything was going to stay intact, regardless of my speed today. And speed was on the menu, of a certainty. There were people in Seattle expecting me, and I wouldn't be late if I could help it. The weather was definitely a factor yet, as there were still almost 2000 miles to go, and every kind of weather possible in those miles. But I was southbound now, and it had to get warmer, right? Was I in for a surprise!
