It's ALL About The Ride

Day 48

July 07, 2007 Saturday

While back to my camp routine, I enjoyed my coffee as I began to take down the tent and pack.  I was anxious to get back into the United States.  My trip so far has been so awesome, a dream come true.  Everyone I met has been so kind.  With quite a few miles to ride before I return to Florida, perhaps I and my Harley Road King will continue in good spirits and good health.

I rode South on Highway #1 toward Blaine, Washington.  The lights flashed and said the expected wait was three hours for both the customs entrances.  I idled along for a distance and did not make a complete stop.  Then began to stop and start in traffic.  I passed a number of cars in the bus and truck lane.  Why didn’t I ask someone how a motorcycle is supposed to travel?  Pass everyone or stay in line.  I shut the bike off and even walked alongside for a while.  I took off my layers of clothing, until I was down to my tank top.  After drinking the last of my water, I could see the customs booths ahead.  It was a very sunny, hot 90 degrees.  I had several conversations with other people in cars and small trucks.  After an interminable wait, it was my turn to reach the booth.  I kicked the bike into neutral and pulled my passport from my shirt.  The customs inspector shouted at me to turn off the bike!  I did.  He said I needed to unlock, then apparently changed his mind and said, “I am giving you a pink slip.  Let the customs inspection station do their job”.

When I tried to start the bike, click, click.  Dead battery.  The customs officer turned and walked away!  I started to try and walk it away, when three young men whom I had talked with a few miles back, ran up and said, “Get on the bike, mama, we will push you”.  It was down a small incline and up around the corner to the inspection station.  I thanked them as they ran back to their vehicle.  I had to unlock the suitcase/tour pack and trailer.  A lady was doing the inspection.  She was a good-sized person, but could not undo the bungee cord that I had placed around the tour pack.  I took it off and unlocked it.  She went through all of my bags.  Practically everything was out of my motorcycle trailer and the saddlebags.  One inspector even walked over with a dog that sniffed around.  The lady stated that everything looked fine.  Then she walked away.

Now I was thirsty and had to use the bathroom.  They have no accommodations in customs, so I began to try to think of the best and fastest way to get out of here.  I looked in my Harley-Davidson atlas and located a shop about thirty miles away.  The lady that answered the telephone was so helpful and gave me the name of a tow truck driver near me.  I called and he stated they would be there in about 45 minutes.  I looked in my cooler and tried to get things repacked.  I laid out my bright green tarp and began to lay things on it.  My hands were shaking from not having enough to drink or anything to snack on.  I found a Diet Pepsi and had just enough ice to cool it a little by pouring it into my tin coffee cup.  I also located my peanut butter and some crackers.  I was doing great in a few minutes after I sat down, ate, and drank a little, never mind I was wetting myself from the need to use a restroom.

Then with my tools, I took off the saddlebag and lifted the seat.  Batteries are not in an easy-to-get-to place.  I pulled some of the little red plastic battery caps and I could see there was not a drop of water inside.  I had everything packed by the time the nice Harley rider/tow truck man and his lady friend came to my rescue.  They had water for me and water for my bike!  He charged the battery for a few minutes and I asked how far to the nearest gas station.  He said it was only a couple miles.  He was the owner and would follow me and make sure the bike re-started.  It did not.  He charged it some more while I used the bathroom and drank some more water.  Then he jumped it again.  After I secured the saddlebag and seat, I insisted he take my Canadian money.  He did not want to, being a fellow biker, but I insisted, I really did not need to keep it, and I would have had to pay anyone else to come to my rescue.