Road trip of a life time.

Let me tell you a little story of a road trip.  It’s the Fourth of July, a long weekend. The loving husband looks up as the sky and says to me at about 9 am. “It’s not raining but it’s just a dreak (Scots for gray, misty, funky, day). Let’s take the bike, (Harley 1977 FXS Low Rider) go north and find some sun. It’s supposed to be sunny up toward Denali.” OK but just in case I take a small stadium blanket which I stuff in the bag I usually tie on the back of the very tall sissy bar. I like that bar and the tall seat back. I can lean back on it and just relax.
At Denali Park, a little over 100 miles, it is a lot less gray, but not wonderful. The sky further north looks better. So with a grin he says, “Fairbanks isn’t that much further. Let’s go.”
On the way to Fairbanks, about 200 miles away, we get caught in a major rain storm that really dumps on us. He is not wearing a helmet, I have to drat it. The rain is like being stung by bees at 70 miles per hour. In Fairbanks it is beautiful. Clear, day and sunny. We stop at a car wash and wash us and the bike. But all the motorcycle crowd had gone down the Richardson Highway to Gakona Lodge. It is just off the Richardson on the Tok Cutoff.
On the way we are cruising past a lake as the sun is low in the sky. It is just lovely beyond belief. We are easing down the road at about 70 mph, the lake looks like it is all gold. Someone waves at us as we pass from a little boat. We are riding in sunlight like hot butter flowing over everything.
Another 200 miles and we make Gakona where the party is in full swing. Around 2 or 3 in the morning its time to try to get some rest. There are no rooms to be had. I get several big black garbage bags from the bar tender. I find a large piece of cardboard, make a pillow of the small blanket. The two of us bed down on the cardboard still dressed inside the garbage bags hiding from a pack of vicious mosquitoes. We get a few, very few hours and trek the 175 miles home.
That has been over 30 years ago. My loving husband has passed on but because I did not say no and let myself be talked into something I knew was going to be rough, I have a memory to last a life time. Moral of the story. Go For IT!

anbike

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