Epilogue: I purposely waited several months to write this RR. As it contains little useful, practical information, no one would miss its presence. Others have posted RRs of far more value, with better writing, and photographs worthy of publication. Obviously, writing this RR was more for me than you. And since it was for me - I wanted the experience of the trip to sit for awhile. I wanted to see how I would feel about it six months later. I wanted it to age. I'm still extremely grateful for my youngest son who made it possible. He picked up after the dog and mowed the lawn, and generally took care of the loyal canine that loves our family. They are mundane tasks but without him I would have had to put off this trip until some time in the future. I left on this trip with a high school classmate in the hospital. Kenny had hernia surgery in January but collapsed in his bathroom, "... just like Elvis ..." he posted, in April. He and I were not close in high school or after but we chanced to have breakfast together four or five years ago. We were able to look back on our youth with the wisdom of being fifty year old men. He shared with me the loss of his mother, his love for his children, and this profound thought: "I am a dinosaur. I know I am a dinosaur." He was speaking politically, but at the same time we both acknowledged what happens to dinosaurs. I received a text while I was in Cantwell. It was from my sixth grade crush. [I proved my devotion back then by throwing her books off her desk onto the floor which got us both sent to the hallway for a chewing out by Mr. Steele. Roller skating hand-in-hand during the slow song under the disco ball in seventh grade has been replaced by an occasional round of golf, shanking a few balls into the adjacent fairway, and comparing notes on physical infirmities.] The news was not good. Kenny, who had been her Prom date and fellow class clown, was in the ICU. The situation was dire. I sent a postcard from Cantwell hoping that Kenny would pull through and get a chance to see it. I thought of him a lot over the remaining miles. He passed at the age of 54 two weeks after I returned home. One thing I want to make clear: I'm a nobody. Both on this website and in the world. And that's ok. Anonymity is underrated. Given the money, minimal riding ability and the time off from work, almost anybody can ride almost any motorcycle to Alaska - Ed March proved that without any question. [Google "Ed March C90 Adventures"] There is a lot of debate in our community and society about what is and isn't "Adventure". My trip to Alaska taught me that Adventure is Relative. I saw literally dozens of bicyclists pedaling to Alaska, Deadhorse, and even met a German fellow who had already bicycled all across Europe and the entire perimeter of Australia. He was on his way to Ushuaia at the rate of about 100 miles per day. I even saw two separate families bicycling with young children! I met a fellow who was walking from Ontario to Deadhorse. I met an engineering intern from Louisiana who was doing his summer internship in Kotzebue - two jobs were posted nationwide and he was one of only two applicants - and he was thrilled to be there. [Type "Kotzebue" into Google Maps] Lastly, I met Carl & Ilene in Fort Nelson headed northbound on an older HD Ultra Limited with their blind and handicapped thirty year-old daughter, Maddie, in a sidecar. They have taken Maddie all over the country in that rig and they were headed to Alaska. I'm no adventurer compared to these people, you, or many others. I'm just a guy who had a dream as a kid. It came to me in that Boston Pizza restaurant on that rainy day in Fort Nelson with Kim (from Calgary) sitting across from me: Adventure comes in different sizes but is always a path away from comfort and familiarity. It is the trail of uncertainty trod with confidence in one’s abilities and trust in your fellow man - not fear of others or the unknown. MikeC aka "72 Yamaha RD350"