The sea to sky highway is a small two lane road that winds its way from Horseshoe Bay near Vancouver to the grand ski resorts of Whistler and Black Comb, this scenic byway hugs the cliffs of a magnifiscent glacier carved landscape. With the Howe Sound to my left and the tree-covered Coast Mountains to my right I piloted my bike through blissful turns. Carefully keeping my eye on the highway was difficult with the dramatic drops to the island dotted waters far below.
My plan was to get to Whistler, spend the night with an ice pack on my aching foot. I dreamed about opening one of those bottles of wine from Washington and a nice dinner. I reasoned to myself that I needed to slowly ease into the rough wilderness of Canada and Alaska and as a premier World-Class ski resort which will play host to the 2010 Winter Olympics, feeling sorry for myself and my bone-head move in Seattle that left me in a precariouis position where I couldn't walk to far from my bike. Normally, I'd pull off in a wayside, hike a bit, shoot pictures. But tethered by my new cane and a brokena and sprained foot, I was rooted close to my new best friend -- my BMW F650 GS Dakar.
Rounding a corner and getting within 20 miles of Whistler I soon found myself under the watchful eye of Stawmus Chief, one of the largest granite monoliths in the world sitting high above the scenic village of Squamish. the chief attracts climbers from all over the world. I am happy to wind the road to Whistler just below it.
In Whistler I played on my own personal pity and decided to splurge for one last dinner before I'd once again join the ranks of campers, canned soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and decided to dine at Araxi in Whistler's lower village.
The meal was fantastic. Key to Araxi's culinary concept is using all local and naturally grown ingredients and foods in each of their dishes which change daily. I was blown away by my meal and figuring it'd be my last fine dining experience for sometime, I thought I'd share the menu and wine selections and strongly urge you visit this restaurant if you find yourself climbing the sea to sky highway or skiing in Whistler.
Herb Crusted Queen Charlotte Halibut - Globe artichokes, eggplant puree, Across the Creek Farm wax beans (white), verjust, olive oil, grape juice and lemon and tomator vinaigrette
The beets grown locally up the road and the Halibut from just north of Vancouver all were fantastic. My mouth exploded with flavor and that basil sorbet - who would have thuought anything sounding so silly could taste so good. I paired these entries with local British Columbia wines which pleasant suprised me:
2004 Qual's Gate "Limited Release" Gerwurtztrameiner, Okanagan Valley
2004 Gehringer Brothers "Optimum" Pinot Noir, Okanagan Valley
I couldn't stop their, my server tempted me with locally grown berries from Pemerton (a town I'd drive through on my way to Prince George)
Pemberton Berry Napolean - fresh rasberries and sable pastry with Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream.
I hobbled my way back to the room and slept in a Murhpy Bed until 6am when my alarm was greeted by my hand for a number (I lost count) of "sleep" slams.
Photos: (1) Queen Chalotte Halibut; (2) Quiet dinner good place for self pity for my broken foot and to catch up on my journaling and notes; (3) Pemberton Berries and ice cream. Yum.
8:24:58 AM permalink | | trackback ()
As gracious and helpful they could be Jeff, Eric and Carrie at the Apple Store in Lynwood delivered me the bad news. My PowerBook didn't make that morning's DHL delivery. Per the information available from Apple's depot repair facility in Texas, a part for my computer was back ordered.
If I wasn't going to let a broken foot delay my journey, there was no way I'd let a broken computer get in the way of moving onward to the Last Frontier. I made arrangements to call with an address in Canada so that upon receipt of the computer the store could ship it to me on the road.
A couple hours later after riding through the strongest winds of my journey to date, I was greeted by the young olive skinned Canadian border customs agent. After the typical where you going, where you from, what's your citizenship questions, the border guard moved to the nitty gritty.
"Carrying any tobacco or alcohol." I confided in the two bottles of wine Jonathan had sent me with -- not that I needed the extra weight, but there I was sitting at the Canadian border with two cigars and two bottles of wine.
"Any weapons, firearms?"
Nope.
"No weapons? Not pepper spray?"
Nothing.
"You sure?"
Yes. I have no weapons.
"Aren't you worried, traveling alone and camping, about bears?"
No. Should I?
"Yes. You might want to get some bear spray."
Should I get some pepper spray? I couldn't hear him too well because of my earplugs.
"No pepper spray is illegal in Canada. But you can use bear spray."
He sent me on my way thinking about bears and the need to defend myself.
I was extremely lucky to have the opportunity to have dinner at one of Seattle's finest Italian restaurants with a great bottle of wine and a beautiful woman last night. Walking the streets of downtown Seattle through Pikes Market and the cozy tony Belltown Neighborhood. Everything was going right for me when it happened.
Riding a motorcycle around your home can be dangerous. Riding around the world can be dangerous. When you're miles away from the comfort zone of your own community the last thing anyone wants or expects is a major disaster or a mild hiccup.
My hiccup happened last night. Not that I really needed new material for this blog relating to the Swedish Medical Center from "Pill Hill" in Seattle. But maybe this emergency room would be slightly different. The cabbie worked as an intern at a competing hospital also located on "Pill Hill", he strongly suggested that we go to the Swedish Medical Center.
"It'll be more comfortable and quicker," he assured us as I handed him a $!0 bill and limped toward the sliding glass doors.
About 30 minutes later my name is called.
"What happened?"
Forget motorcycling. Walking can be dangerous. I decided to take in the water sculpture, fountain and walkways of a city scape courtyard feature on 4th outside a couple tall buildings. A couple steps up and I walked across a short walkway elevated above the water just slightly so to still experience the thrill of misting fog and water. Angie didn't want to get wet, so she stayed below and watched. And as I made my u-turn to return to solid ground, I stepped down and something went awry. My right foot buckled under my ankle and a jumped up grabbing my knee and slowly setting my foot down.
"Shit!"
The pain was moving through me faster than a bullet train. All I wanted was a glass of port and an espresso.
I knew I sprained the mother... maybe worse. I've twisted, turned and flopped both my ankles around enough over the years that I know the drill. But this time the pain seemed worse. We hobbled to the White Horse near Pikes Market and ordered a glass of Port and called our cabbie.
The ER doctor a tall woman in her late 30's was tall, auburn hair pulled back and wore a long dress with a short slit and has she walked revealed a completely tattooed leg.
She handed me a bottle of ibupropen and a handful of Vicadins.
"Don't let this interfere with your trip," she consulted with me as the intern wrapped an ace bandage around my ankle.
"You've got a convulsion fracture -- a really bad sprain. But people with worse injuries have done more physically demanding activities than ride a motorcycle."
These words didn't settle well with Angie as revealed by the look in her eye as the doctor delivered her advice.
"Just don't put your foot down. It's too bad this happens in the middle of your trip. But don't let it interrupt or ruin it. I know. My husband rides a bike."
Sure. Why not head into the last frontier with a broken foot and move like a gimp through the tundra while scouting caribou, moose and grizzly bears. Sure. Sounds good to me.
All I could think is thank god it was my right foot. Had this happened to my left foot I'd be temporarily stranded. With the weight of the bike on the side stand which leans to the left, I'd never be able to pick the bike up off the side stand if my left foot had incurred the injury.
I downed the ibupropen, through a big bag of ice on my foot and closed my eyes.
Yes. The adventure has begun.
Tune into www.worldrider.com for more frequent updates!
3:12:24 PM permalink | | trackback ()
I was extremely lucky to have the opportunity to have dinner at one of Seattle's finest Italian restaurants with a great bottle of wine and a beautiful woman last night. Walking the streets of downtown Seattle through Pikes Market and the cozy tony Belltown Neighborhood. Everything was going right for me when it happened.
