Run To Youth Detention Centre

AS A URAL BIKE PASSENGER, I look forward to adventures on our shiny green Patrol. Our riding friends have a Gear Up and together we pour over logging road maps to point out our newest destination. Today, we headed out to find the Vancouver Island’s youth detention centre.

We headed north on Island Highway and after 30 kilometres turned west on Lakeview Road. The pungent odour of evergreen trees filled my nostrils and the narrow gravel road made me feel like it was for our exclusive use. Hundreds of intertwining logging roads on Vancouver Island provide adventures for those of us who enjoy nature.

We stopped once to check our map and arrived shortly at our destination. It was no longer a youth detention centre; it was Edaus School, a place for Korean children to live and study in an English-speaking environment.

We walked around the outside of the facility, peering into windows to see bunk beds and small dressers. We enjoyed our lunch with a spectacular view of Maud Lake. Later, we drove home.

Checking map coordinates

Lunch at Maud Lake

Food Run Memories

WE EACH JUMPED OUT of our sidecars and scampered from house to house gathering up bags of non-perishable items. We placed them in the back of the attending truck and brought our load back to one of the Ural troop’s garage. There we sorted the goods to fit into the sidecars and on the racks of each bike.

With our brilliantly decorated Urals, we rode in a parade-like fashion to deliver our treasures to the local Campbell River food bank.

Our lead driver was dressed up as Santa Claus and drove a Gear Up, Frank, my husband, followed in our Patrol and the third driver closed ranks with his Gear Up. We three monkeys followed them in a regular vehicle.

Along our route, the drivers got honked at by passing motorists and waved at by people out for an evening stroll. Once we arrived at the drop-off site, folks interested in the Ural bikes surrounded us. Some even helped us transfer the perishables to the waiting storage trailer. We left the parking lot with upbeat hearts.

Food Run Memories 2011

Susan Learns to Ride

“Forget everything you learnt about driving. This is a Ural,” my husband said.

My mind raced back to the workings of my first car with its standard-transmission, and the fun experience of  driving a scooter in Hawaii. Back in the moment, on a cool autumn day, I swung my leg over the driver’s seat of our 2007 green Patrol. I stared at the array of instruments and controls facing me.

“The engine throttle control is the right twist grip on the handlebar. To increase engine power, bring the grip towards you. To reduce power, roll the grip away from you,” Frank said.

In neutral, with the green light as an indicator, I pushed the foot break and twisted the throttle at the same time, just a bit, to hear the distinct rumble of the engine. I located the gear shift lever on the left side of the engine, next to the foot peg, engaged the clutch and shifted the Ural into first gear. I released the break, twisting the throttle slightly as I released the clutch, and moved the stallion forward. I strutted around in first gear for quite a while before I sped up, shifted, and managed second gear.

Round and round I drove over the open expanse of the vacant parking lot. What great fun! I thought. I glanced at Frank, now the monkey, sitting calmly in the sidecar. We came to a stop, turned off the engine and started the learning process over again.

Monkeys, do yourself a great favour and learn to drive the Ural. 

Susan learns to ride.

Susan as a biker.

Gripping and Grinding

TRAVERSING THE COQUIHALLA HIGHWAY, referred to as “Coke” by British Columbians, in the rain, pushing our Ural at 80 kilometres an hour, uphill to its 1,244-metre above-sea-level peak was hateful.

Our kickoff at Kamloops was pleasant. A warm July breeze and a bright blue sky surrounded us. We travelled 80 kilometres south on the four-lane freeway at 80 kilometres an hour while traffic on our left swept passed at 110 kilometres. At Merritt, we pulled into a gas station and filled our tank. As per my husband’s instructions, I pulled on my neck warmer and a bulky sweater; zipped up my flimsy windbreaker jacket and snapped it closed; pulled on my winter gloves and slid my hands into my leather gloves with gauntlets to protect my wrists and to help prevent the blustery wind from shooting up my sleeves. I had refused the offer from my husband to buy me a leather jacket. My conservative view at that time was that only ‘biker chicks’ wore leather.

Just outside of Merritt, it started to rain. Our destination was Hope, 120 kilometres away on the fast moving four-lane highway. I was beyond expectation of ever reaching the end of this trek without loosing my mind. My hands were numb from gripping the metal bar in front of me and my teeth ached from grinding. I had no idea that driving in an open vehicle under these wet and cold conditions could be so exasperating. I began to cry. I pushed my hands and arms under the tonneau, grabbed my blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I tucked my chin into my chest and waited for the Ural to come to a stop.

After 61 kilometres, at the Britton Creek rest area, I pulled myself out of the sidecar and stood quiet for a moment. The rain had stopped. Hope was still another 58 kilometres away. I stood with another women and sipped on hot coffee until it was time to mount our rides. She looked as though she had been crying too. The engines roared and we departed for our half-way destination.

That evening, I soaked in a hot bath and slept well into the next day.

Urals prefer secondary roads

Britton Creek Rest Area has character

Ural Patrol Crosses US Border

DESTINATION BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON, United States of America. It was the first time Frank and I crossed the border on our URAL bike. In order to get off the Vancouver Island, we ferried across at Nanaimo and rode south on Highway 99 to the Peace Arch Crossing. The crossing officer accepted our passports and waived us through.

Our first stop was the Custer Rest Area where we shook our hair loose from under our helmets and relieved the pressure of coffee consumed on our first leg of the trip.

The purpose of our excursion was three-fold: to have the bike maintained by a reputable shop; to meet up with family; and for me to shop for dresses.

Bellingham has an open-space, country feel to it. Our grandson took over as monkey and accompanied Grandpa to the workshop. They spent over five hours with the mechanics fussing with everything on the bike. It hummed like a song on our way back to Canada.

Border crossing then rest

Ural Northwest

Bought two dresses

Brown's Bay the Biker's Way

WE EXPLORE our neighbourhood with our Russian URAL bike. One day we headed out to Brown’s Bay, north of Campbell River, to have a picnic and fly our kites. We settled in a cozy place to unpack and feast on fresh fruit and sandwiches. Sadly, there was not enough space to fly our kites.

A friendly seal paddled around the dock and made eye contact with us. Boats were moored and fishers took to the water.

On our way back to Highway 19A, a steep gravel road caught our attention. Frank motioned for us to take it and I responded with thumbs up. The Ural is meant to handle this type of trail especially when it’s kicked into two-wheel drive. Frank revved the motor and roared up the road. The forty-degree grade was a challenge for the URAL. It felt like riding an untamed stallion. The thirteen-kilometre vertical challenged Frank's strength as the loose gravel flew in all directions and our wheels sunk into the soft sand.

When he stopped the bike I climbed out of the sidecar to admire the spectacular view of mountains and clear blue sky. My eyes caught something uncommon on the road behind us.

“Hey! What’s all that?” I said.

We walked closer to realize that our trunk had unlatched and all the contents had fallen out. We re-loaded the trunk, locked it securely and rumbled back down the trail.

Brown's Bay Vancouver Island

We love the side roads

I Did a Bad, Bad Thing

I HAD BEEN WARNED by fellow sidecar passengers and a couple of drivers, including my husband, that wearing a lap blanket in the sidecar can be very dangerous if you’re not paying attention. Their forewarning played out dramatically on our eighty-seven and a half kilometer journey from Campbell River, British Columbia to Gold River.

September 28 offered up a bright, blue-sky morning, the perfect conditions for a ride. The fall weather called for my fur-lined leather jacket and my favourite blanket to wrap around my legs. I heard the motor roar; we slid out of our parking lot onto Dogwood Street, continued north on Highway 19 and turned left onto Gold River Highway. The autumn smells included the pungent odour of dead leaves and the cool scent of clean water wafting from Upper Campbell Lake. The contrast between the stoic dark green of the coniferous trees and the sharp orange and yellow of the semi-dormant deciduous types brought a smile to my face. I nodded off three kilometers before the Muchalat turn off into Gold River.

I was startled into reality by a striking sensation that my blanket was being torn from me.

“Frank, stop!” I shouted. He couldn’t hear me over the distinct growl of the motor. I slapped his knee to get a reaction and had my hand swatted away. I covered the top of one hand in a T-shape with the other, my signal that we need to stop, and showed it to him. He made a left turn and could I see from the panic in his face that the resistance from the sidecar wheel was interfering with his steering. He struggled the bike into the driveway of a gas station and turned off the motor. His bunched up face told me he was angry.

My lap blanket was gnarled around the sidecar drive shaft. I looked on as Frank and two truck drivers, who had seen the incident, slid under the Ural, taking turns hacking away at the blanket with their knives.

The excursion home was a bit chilly without my blanket. Since then, I’ve created a snug, zipped sleeping bag that doesn’t fly around. 

The lap blanket fiasco

One of the rescue knives

Smell The Ride

THE ODOUR OF GASOLINE fills my nostrils as I plunk myself on the cushy seat of the sidecar. My husband-driver, Frank, has just poured fuel from one of our three attached Jerry Cans into the tank. The roar of the motor fills my ears and the tang from the engine pierces my nostrils.

We drive away from the city of Campbell River, south on Highway 19A. The stench of a recent road-kill grabs my attention. I glance quickly to see the remains of a white-speckled fawn on the highway. Everything seems so close on the Ural bike. I look up to see a streak of white plume following a jet. The sky is brilliant blue and filled now with a low-flying flock of Canadian geese.

The aroma of evergreen trees replaces all fragrances with their robust attempt to stay strong. Fall season, on this part of the Vancouver Island, means that yards are being cleared. The stinging smells of burning bushes fill the air. As we roar down the highway an enormous wave of perfume fragrance fills my nostrils. I close my eyes to help keep the memory of the precious scent but soon the reek of skunk shocks me into reality. Whether near of far, the stink takes over everything.

As a passenger on an Ural bike, you have the distinct pleasure of absorbing the smells that no car passenger would ever imagine. Take your time and enjoy the ride.

Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived.

~ Helen Keller  Courtesy of http://www.brainyquote.com

Son and grandson get to smell the ride.

The odour of gasoline.

Smell the ride.

The Journey Is The Thing

Homer, the ancient Greek poet, must have rode in the sidecar of a Russian Ural motorbike. It’s true that the journey’s the thing when a passionate driver is chauffeuring you about. Getting ready for the journey is also part of the fun. I wear a Hoodie, which I pull over my head and set my helmet on. My earplugs help suppress the noise from the motor that roars on my left and protective glasses keep my eyes wet.

September 22, 2012, on central Vancouver Island, offered a bright sunny day and moderate temperatures. I packed a lunch for my husband and I, and hopped into the sidecar like an excited puppy. We had a destination in mind, and had never travelled the logging roads to Lost Lake. To my great pleasure, on the way, we took a side path, explored more forestry roads and ended up at Loveland Bay Provincial Park where we enjoyed a lakeside picnic. We stopped at Lost Lake on our way home and walked the short hiking trail to explore the area.

It’s the fragrance of nature, the sound of chirping songbirds, squawking crows, and the sight of regal eagles that keep us travelling and stopping along our journeys.

Logging Roads Galore

Sidecar Views

Loveland Bay Provincial Park

Twin Lake - Double The Fun

TWIN LAKE TURNOFF appears after a smooth twenty-nine-kilometre ride north of Campbell River, British Columbia, on Highway 19. Mohun West Road is also accessible at this juncture. We tackled both rock-covered; pot-holed, dusty logging roads for double the fun.

My duty as sidecar passenger was to control the camera and remain calm as we careened down steep hills, through narrow forest trails and roared up vertical switchbacks in second gear. I hung on tightly to the metal bar in front of me shouting out a few ‘Woohoos!’ with great enthusiasm.

I use my hands to form a T-shape which Frank, my driver, understands to be ‘time out’. He cautiously pulls over on the narrow road, which at anytime could be shared by a logging truck and its full load. I jump out quickly to take a landscape photograph, hop back into my comfortable seat and we roar on.

Twin Lake was a Shangra-la delight. There are only a five campsites; a senior couple and their senior dogs occupied one. We struck up a conversation with them and they shared their knowledge of the area. With their suggestion, we continued up Mohun West road to Mohun Lake Campsite. It’s an assorted collection of tent sites and semi-permanent motor homes. The lake is clear and breathtaking. We walked through the large privately owned property and drove home.

Whether you’re heading out for the day or a cross-country adventure be sure to absorb nature’s fragrances, sounds and joyful energy.

Roads Less Travelled

Twin Lake

Trek to Mohun Lake

Mini-view of Mohun Lake

Monkey See, Monkey Do

FOR SOME WILD AND CRAZY REASON the sidecar or side hack passenger is called a ‘monkey’ or ‘hack monkey’. There were three of us on the September 8, 2012 (Inter)National Ural Rally that started in Campbell River, British Columbia with two bikes, and a pick up in Courtenay of another two-person team. Our convoy roared south on Highway 19A to the Denman Ferry crossing at Buckley Bay. We boarded the ship, travelled 1.2 nautical miles for ten minutes and disembarked effortlessly. The weather was on our side with clear blue skies and a beautiful wind swirling around my helmet on the roadways.

We investigated the local Saturday Market and purchased organic garlic from a local vendor. Further up the road we settled at a waterfront picnic site to share our lunch. We gazed out over the Strait of Georgia and agreed that there was no better place to be than right there, right then.

Back on the paved secondary road we left it after only a few kilometres and travelled seventeen more on a variety of gravel and soft sand roads. One of the drivers, who can shift into second gear without having to stop his bike, sped up in front of us, leaving us in his dust.

Our drivers were steering while we monkeys were taking photographs of everything that caught our eyes. What freedom to sit facing the action, hands free, safely seated on a wide, padded cushion.

Ladies, give it a go if you haven’t already done so. Wear the right equipment and soon you’ll be bugging the driver to make a regular monkey out of you.

Team waits for ferry

On and off to Denman Island

Roads less travelled

Susan on Denman Island

Rally Ready

ONE MORE SLEEP and I turn into a Plain Monkey as the passenger for the (Inter)National Ural Rally. As the significant other of Frank, the driver, right out of the gate our shiny green Patrol accumulates 50 points. Last year, we ran out of gas, but were excited to know that we’d earned 50 points. This year, our intention is to garner The Full Pucker at 100 points, meaning that we’ll run on reserve until we run the tank dry. Talk about throwing caution to the wind because Frank is a meticulous military type and wouldn’t ordinarily allow something so predictable to happen.

Our adventure roars to a start in Campbell River, BC, with friends on a Gear-Up, and a pickup point in Courtenay to gather more friends and their Gear-Up. We drive to our ferry connection from Vancouver Island to the Denman Island community.

The Unexpected Adventure Bonus could be ours considering that on the Islands you only have to wait five minutes for the weather to change. I’m thrilled at the opportunity to pull on my ‘Ural Hoodie”. It would be great to earn an extra point per kilometre for the time it’s raining.

Wish us luck. We look forward to hearing your story.

Susan under her 'Ural Hoodie'

Our 2011 (Inter)National Ural Rally Crew

It Started in Port Hardy

MY CRAVING TO DRIVE our Russian Ural motorbike with sidecar, started just after we purchased it in 2008. We bought it while we were living in China; my husband picked it up in Vancouver and brought it to our new living space in Port Hardy, British Columbia. We’ve since moved to Campbell River and enjoy our funky ride all seasons.

My idea was to be able to control the bike enough that I could get us both to safety if something were to happen to Frank on one of our excursions. So, he agreed to take me to an empty parking lot and there he handed the green bulldog over to me.

After several attempts to switch into second gear, I found myself getting very comfortable with the technique of gearing up somewhat and shifting at the right time.

“Just listen to the motor,” Frank said. “It tells you when it needs changing.”

Although I’m not the primary driver, I still have a confident sense that I can take us to safety if need be.

Ladies, may I suggest that in order for you to really appreciate the role of the driver, you might like to ask for lessons. The Ural bike rides like a sports car. It doesn’t lean to one side or the other and you feel solid assurance between your legs.

Have fun!

Port Hardy Excursion

I'll get us there if I have to.

222 To Sayward

In 2011 our URAL Rally number was 222 and along with two other URAL motorcyclists from Campbell River, British Columbia, we headed due north approximately 63 kilometers to Sayward. We were registered as Van Isle 3X2 for National Rally Day http://nationalrallyday.com/.

Our great nation, Canada, is separate and unique from its American sister and we have our Russian URAL motorbikes with sidecar in common.

The main purpose of the gathering was to ride our bikes approximately 200 kilometres or so and collect points by photographing the bike and us, with its number clearly shown, at various stops along the way. For example, Locky stopped his Gear-Up at a Heritage Fire Truck garage and snapped a picture to gather points. As a sidecar passenger, I hopped out of our Patrol several times to capture an image that would get us rewards too, like Frank filling the gas tank.

The front rider used arm signals to steer us in favourable directions. We stopped along the road several times and once long enough to have a barbeque thanks to Ms. Dianna, another of our team’s sidecar riders.

Just past the one-lane bridge in Sayward, we stopped along the side of the road and admired all the abandoned farm implements. From that point we carried on to the Kelsey Bay Wharf and enjoyed a cup of coffee and one of the most magnificent panoramic seaside views on the Vancouver Island.

Exploring the wonders of our local area as a passenger on a URAL motorbike is a breathtaking experience. No scent goes unnoticed and the view from the comfort of my cushy seat is magnificent.

Locky with Gear-Up

Dianna prepares BBQ

Kelsey Wharf, Sayward, BC

Little Goose Big Thrill

OUR EXCURSION TO LITTLE GOOSE was quite by accident as are many of our adventures on the URAL bike. We headed north from Campbell River to Roberts Lake, approximately 30 kilometers, to enjoy one of their famous cinnamon buns. On our way, a sign on the west side of the road caught my attention and we decided to explore the trail on our way home.

At the resort, we met a group of other bike enthusiasts and typically, our Patrol was the only bike with a sidecar. I exchanged stories with some of the women who ride on the back of a motorcycle, explaining the sheer joy of facing the adventure head-on. The other women who were motoring their own bikes shared their sensation of freedom not having to sit behind the driver.

We waved our goodbyes and headed south to Little Goose Road.

We are always thrilled with side roads. We love our trails narrow and cumbersome. We get a sense of being alone in the world surrounded exclusively by the sound of the bike motor until we pull to a stop. The surrounding forest was filled with chirping birds and curious sounding rustles at ground level. We investigated an abandoned farm plow and took our time enjoying the lay of the land.

The daisies in the field hold a special place in my heart. They were my mother’s favourite flower and seeing them fills my senses with her face and love.

We sported our helmets and headed home.

 The Motorcycle Song

by Arlo Guthrie
♫ I don't want a pickle
Just want to ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want a tickle
'Cause I'd rather ride on my motorsickle
And I don't want to die
Just want to ride on my motorcy...cle ♫

Little Goose Forest Service Road

Memories of my Mom

Learning to work the Ural

Bear Creek Nature Park

OUR MID-DAY EXCURSION on the URAL bike had us heading south on Inland Highway 19A approximately 58 kilometers south to Washington Way on to Strathcona Parkway. After a short jaunt down the highway we came across a wooden sign inviting us into Bear Creek Nature Park. We love taking side roads and look forward to the adventures that may come up.

We barely made it through the first turn in the path before we ran out of gas. We carry three gas cans attached to the bike and always have reserve. While Frank replenished the tank, I sprang out of the sidecar and walked leisurely around the area. The warm summer weather allows me to sport shorts, a T-shirt, my trusty leather jacket and my Department of Transport (DOT) helmet.

The bear-warning signs were everywhere and so I kept within shouting distance to the only other human in the area. We hiked a few trails and listened to the birds chirping their excitement about the intruders, the gurgling of the creek and the whisper of wind fluttering the leaves in a southeasterly direction.

We boarded the bike and roared down the road that took us back to the highway and home.

Caution! Bears

Susan as a summer biker

Port Hardy Excursion

SEPTEMBER on the North Vancouver Island, specifically Port Hardy, is a time to bundle up with warm clothes if you plan to motor through the mushy trails around the local airport.

For the passenger, gearing up for the sidecar means sporting warm socks, long johns, long pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a Hoodie, earplugs, a fur-lined leather jacket, a helmet and leather gloves. Once I get settled on the padded seat, I draw a cozy blanket over my lap and then pull the tonneau, a leather cover, secured to the front of the sidecar, onto my lap. What might seem like a lot of fussing provides me with warmth and a sense of security.

I sit right beside the engine so having ear protection helps me enjoy the ride. The windshield protects my face from bugs. There is a metal hand-grab bar directly in front of me and I use it to hold me in place if Frank decides to take a sharp corner. Switchback stretches bring a smile to my face.

The sturdy bike can plow through mud and snow at a patient speed. There’s a mechanism between us that Frank manipulates to put the plow horse into second gear. The muddy water is close enough for me to plunge my hand into. I resist the temptation and look forward to achieving dry ground.

Life is side roads.

Port Hardy Excursion

Tonneau

On The Road Again

FRANK AND I are URAL buddies but it wasn’t always that way. Frank’s long history with Harley Davidson motorbikes and my one ride on the back of a Honda as a young woman collided in China when he brought up the idea of buying a bike.

“I’m not riding on the back of a motorbike,” I said.

“Alright then, have a look at this beauty,” he said.

Displayed on the computer screen in our suite in Yichang, China, where we were employed as English teachers, was a sparkling green Russian URAL Patrol bike. It took my breath away. I imagined myself seated comfortably in the cozy sidecar enjoying the unobstructed sights, sounds and smells of freedom.

We ordered the gallant ride, picked it up in Vancouver, Canada and use it all seasons.

Most recently, we took a 129-kilometre excursion from Campbell River, British Columbia, north to Woss. We ran out of gas along the way, but that’s a good thing. We pulled into a Nimpkish roadside spot and while Frank filled the tank with contents from one of our attached gas containers, I filled my time by taking in the beautiful surroundings.

Our friends in Woss entertained us with local news and a scrumptious meal. Our expedition home was a delight.