Today was the girl’s day to shop, and my day to go motorcycling.  I had contacted BC Cycle Rentals when we first booked the trip and arraigned to rent a bike and go exploring for a day.  I had wanted a KLR650, but sadly, they did not have one available.  They did have a V-Strom like mine, and a Honda VFR.  I was very tempted by the VFR, as it is a bike that has always intrigued me, but they did not want me taking it off pavement.  They didn’t mind the V-Strom going off road, and it appeared that there were lots of little gravel roads that I would want to explore.  So the V-Strom it was.

 

Lana walked with me down to the rental place, which was on the harbor about 10 minutes from the hotel.  It took about 30 minutes to do the paperwork and talk to the crew about roads…I wanted to get some local knowledge about the best riding areas.  I was off and running about 10:45, wishing Lana a good day with the girls.

 

We were blessed with another warm, sunny day.  Temps started out in the 60’s, with a forecast high of 75, and no cloud cover.  What a great day to be on a motorcycle.

 

  

First I ran along the waterfront, south of our hotel, drinking in the scenery as I cruised along the shore covered with fine homes.  Then I cut through town and hit Highway 14, motoring west along the shore, headed for Port Renfrew.  The road was pretty, lightly trafficked, and not very challenging, just easy sweepers through the firs, the Olympics looming up on the left.

 

 

After a while I saw a park, called French Beach, and rode down to the parking lot for a break and some pictures.

 

 

Just after I got back on the road, I saw a motorcycle ahead on the side of the road, and a police cruiser.  Turns out they were both cops.  They let the line of traffic ahead of me pass, but pulled me over.  “What in the world could they want” I wondered to myself.  “I certainly wasn’t speeding, I just pulled out of the parking lot!”  They asked to see my license and commented on the bike, then started asking a bunch of questions when I handed over my Florida drivers license.  It turns out they were just interested in the bike and didn’t really have anything else to do.  We chatted motorcycles for a while (the motor cop also taught riding courses), and I asked them for some road suggestions.  The told me that a new road had just been completed that connected Port Renfrew to the Trans Canada Highway on the other side of the island.  They said it was a good ride, mostly paved, with about 8 miles of gravel.  That sounded like just the ticket!  Decision made.

 

A few miles down the road I entered the little town of Jordan River.  It was a cool little place, with an RV park on the riverside, rafts of logs tied up by a sawmill, and surfers out braving the cold water.  The whole “town” was maybe ¼ mile long.  Just on the other side, the road made a sharp 90 degree bend and climbed a steep hill, and I rode through standing on the pegs for a better view.  As I gave the bike power coming out of the curve, I heard a “slap slap slap” sound coming from somewhere.  "Odd, I don’t remember hearing that before".  I downshifted to see if it changed with engine speed…it didn’t.   But it did change with the speed of the bike.  “I’ll bet I picked up something in a tire”, I thought.  I pulled over at the top of the hill, on a paved driveway going into a gravel pit, shut down, pulled off my helmet, and started inspecting the tires.  Nothing on the first look, so I started pushing the bike ahead a little bit so I could see the rest of the tire.  As I was pushing, a pickup pulled over…it was a young park ranger named Heath.  He asked if I was having problems, I told him what had happened, and he walked over, and pointed.  “There’s your problem”, he said.

 

 

All he had for tools was a Leatherman, and we monkeyed with the link for a while, but couldn’t get it back on.  Even if we had, we didn’t have a flaring tool, so it would have just popped off anyway.  Another guy drove up and offered to help, and said he had a flaring tool at home, but by now I was thinking that I had better leave it alone.  If I “repaired” it, and my repair gave way, the chain parted, and caused more damage, it would be my fault.  I had weak cell service, so called the rental shop. 

 

“You are WHERE?”

 

“Well, I told you I wasn’t going to hang around town!”

 

“OK, but it’s going to take us about an hour and a half to get out there”.

 

“No problem, I will just coast down the hill and wait for you at the coffee shop”.

 

“OK”.

 

So my day was shot.  I had only been riding about 2.5 hours, the “rescue” would take 3, and the day would be over.  But it could have been a lot worse.  It was a bright, sunny, warm day, I was in a beautiful spot to kill a couple of hours, I had cell service, and I wasn’t out on some gravel logging road a hundred miles from nowhere.

 

At the bottom of the hill I sat on the rocks by the shore, ate an apple and some peanuts that I had brought, and watched the surfers.  After I ate, I walked about 100 yards to the bridge, thinking I might spot an otter or a seal.  As I stood there, a couple walked up and struck up a conversation.  They were New Yorkers, and he started peppering me with odd questions.  Who was going to win the election?  Why were oil prices so high?  What was going to happen to the US economy?  What should we do about Iran?  I got the impression that he was a bit of a conspiracy theorist.  After a while, he predicted that World War III would start before 2010.  I told him that I sure hoped he was wrong!

 

As we were talking, a grey Ducati crossed the bridge, pulled up by the V-Strom, and the rider dismounted.  “Somebody’s checking out my bike, I had better see what’s going on”.  The New Yorkers said their goodbyes, and I went to check out the Ducati pilot.  We chatted for a while, then a red VFR pulled up and it’s rider joined the conversation.  We stood by the bikes and jawed for maybe 45 minutes, then the truck from the rental place showed up.

 

I had been broken down at Jordan River for 2 hours.  I had been by myself for a total of 15 minutes.  Canada sure is a friendly place.

 

On the way back to Victoria, Rick from the rental place asked if I would like a bike tomorrow.  “I really am sorry about this, I feel like I owe you something”.  I wasn’t sure.  The four of us had planned to go to Butchart Gardens tomorrow.  Today had been planned as my riding day from the beginning.  But it really came down to this: would I rather ride motorcycles or look at flowers?  When I thought about it this way, there really wasn’t much to think about!  I called Lana, explained the situation, and told her what I was thinking about.  “By all means, go!  We will be fine by ourselves”.  What a girl.

Lana's comment sealed the deal.  Back at the shop, Rick signed me out on the white VFR, and offered to charge a total of $100 for the two days.  The one day rental on the Strom would have been $155.  “More than fair”, I said, and rode off a happy guy.

 

 The girls had a great day shopping.  I figured that I hadn't really missed anything, until they showed me this picture.

The said that the restaurant had "a lot of male clients".  Go figure.

 

 

That night we went out for steaks at a place called The Keg, which we thought was local, but later found out was a chain.  After dinner we all 4 walked down to Jackson Bay, since Zena had not gone with us last night.  Once again, the streets were filled with the scent of smoldering hemp.  Groovy, man.

 

 

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