The Final Frontier Ain't for the Weak

Do not expect pity

Yesterday morning I arrived at the motorcycle shop in Whitehorse a few minutes before opening. Two older gentlemen were already there, also waiting for the shop to open. They were in their sixties or seventies. They had called ahead and ordered tires, and now only needed them mounted.

As soon as the place opened, we went inside. I stood behind them in line as they explained to the service tech that they had ordered the tires ahead of time but were not able to make their Friday appointment (it was now Monday).

The tech—without an ounce of warmth—looked at these two older guys and simply retorted, “We are full today. You missed your appointment.” After a little hesitation from the customers, the tech added, “You can take off your own wheels and we will mount the tires. There are center-stands out front.” One of the old men asked, “Do you have tools for us to use?” The tech answered, “No.”

Then it was my turn. Great.

I stepped forward and said, “I think you may have already answered my question.” The tech replied, “What’s the problem.” I began to explain, “After riding the Dempster Highway, my chain nearly came all the way loose. I think I fixed it, but I need someone to look it over.”

Ignoring the immediate problem I had raised, he looked at me and dryly asked, “When is the last time you oiled your chain?” “I did it when I left home,” I answered. He added, “You need to do it every 4,000 kilometers,” and continued to chastise me as if I were a 12-year-old child. F-bombs and everything. (In my defense, yes I did let it go for over 4,000 miles. But it had only been ten days! I simply didn’t think of it.)

After listening to how f-ing stupid I was (a tone-appropriate summary of what was said), I explained that I only needed him to look at the chain. If he could tell me whether it was too tight or too loose, I could take it from there. He at least consented to that.

The chain was too “f-ing tight.” Then he grabbed the chain and chastised me for the lack of grease on it. To add insult to injury, the tech walked over and touched the chain of one of the old men’s bikes, and continued to chastise the older man for the same reason. (Again, in my defense, the grease came off when I power-washed the bike just the day before! But I did not explain.)

So, what you see in the picture is all the customers fixing their own bikes out front. What would have happened if you didn’t know how? Presumably you would have had to make an appointment for a week later and booked yourself a lovely vacation in the Yukon.

But the story does not end there. Recall that the shop did not provide tools. I had purchased what I needed the day before, but the other customers had not. I adjusted my chain, lubed it, and fully loaded my bike. I was ready to go on a nearly 11-hour ride for the day, when one of the older gentlemen asked me if I had a certain tool he needed. I was not certain, but I was certain I would have to unload everything to check.

This was a spiritual moment. As I worked on my bike just minutes earlier, I thought to myself, “This is what a world with no pity looks like.” Sure, a bit melodramatic, but true nonetheless. Yet, when the older man asked me for help, my first instinct (even if I did not say it) was to decline. I had such a long ride ahead of me! I wanted to get going.

I instantly recognized the hypocrisy in me. Here I was throwing mental stones at someone for his lack of mercy, but my own heart did exactly that when given the opportunity. The Lord treated no sin more harshly than hypocrisy.

I unloaded everything to reach my tool box. I did not have what the man requested, but I had two other tools he needed. I realized they would require them for several hours. So, I gave the tools to them.

Then, they saw the large 1/2 inch drive I was carrying—the one I purchased the day before to work on my axle. I explained that I could not give that one away because I might need it to tension my chain later. Again, I checked my own hypocrisy. I gave them the tool and explained that I would ride to Canadian Tire and buy another. I asked if they needed any other tools. I bought those too, brought them back to them, and finally went on my merry way. I was confident they would go on their merry way soon too.

By the way, the point of the story is not my own good actions, if any. Mostly, I wanted to convey the desperation of the people there (by the end of the whole saga, three more older gentlemen were in the same situation), and warn future riders. If you go to the middle of nowhere, the “final frontier” in the North American Continent, be prepared to rely solely on yourself. No one is taking pity on you.

I arrived at Fort Nelson. My chain is fine. I traveled the Alaska Highway (as opposed to the road I took on my way north). The Alaska Highway is amazing. All the twists and turns one can possibly want, going through forests, rivers, and gigantic alpine lakes. The best motorcycle road I have ridden during this whole trip. I also saw many bears, caribou, goats, and some porcupine looking thing. Again, amazing ride.