In my last few musing I have referred to all the interesting people I have met. One positive point about travelling on your own, is the fact that you talk to far more people than you would if you were travelling with a partner or in a group.
I see this first hand with the Motoquest Tour that I am on at present. We tend to stick together.

Some of the most interesting people I have met have been in the oddest places.

During my ride across the Yukon, I stopped in two small places to refuel and in both places met very interesting people. These were Destruction Bay and Burwash Landing. It was obvious where Destruction Bay found its name. It was such a bleak and forbidding place that clearly, everything that arrived there, soon self destructed in self preservation. Where Burwash’s name came from took a bit more digging. I am still unable, even with the help of Wiki, to find out where the name comes from.

Traveling Grandparents at Destruction Bay. On the way to see Grandchildren in Whitehorse

Anyhow at Destruction Bay I was at the pumps and a Suzuki pulled in. Riding it was a male of Eskimo origin. He was in a hurry. I reckoned that Eskimo Bill had a bit of Eskimo Pie waiting for him somewhere. So I decided to show him what a GS Adventure could do.

Off I went, flat out. Wanted him to worry that someone else someone else might be in the hunt to harpoon his Eskimo Pie. He was up to the challenge. What was not up to the contest however, was his mount. he over took me about 20 miles out of Destruction Bay and thereafter all I saw for a while was his pipe. Exhaust that is. Then about 50 miles on he suddenly started falling apart. Like in the movies. Through a bit of gravel that did not slow Bonnie and I down one bit and the next thing, bits and pieces started falling off his bike. First his windshield, then one of the mud flaps, then some more plastic. I stopped to help him and to silently gloat a bit.

Eskimo Bills bike still in one piece before Bonnie shows him her derriere

I carried his bits to Burwash, where I stopped to wait for him. The thoughts of Eskimo Pie being on the receiving end of an Harpoon, not of his own doing, was clearly on his mind. That or he spoke no language known to me. No words, no thanks, no ” I lost” , just a guttural noise, gathered his bits and pieces , pushed them under other bits on his bike and he was off.

So  I am sitting there shaking my head and this tall, thin old man stumbles over to me.

Good morning he says in an European Accent. “I suppose I should call you Sir” he says.

I wondered how he knew that I had stuck it to Eskimo Bill? “Why” I inquired?

“Because” he says, “You ride the best motorbike in the world!” I wonder how he knows that Bonnie is the best ride in the world. Has he been able to compare her with Jayne, Spot or Lesley, as I have? Does he know that I have just shown Eskimo Bill the sharp end of an African Assagai? That this is the Assegai that has tamed the toughest mounts in the middle kingdom and fathered four children and now has grandchildren to boot.

He sees my bewilderment so he helps me out and says “BMW’s are the best in the world because they come from Berlin, which is where I come from!” Without stumbling he then tells me his story, which goes as follows:

His name is Siegfried Neuendorff. He was born in Berlin in the 1930’s and was forced to serve in the Hitler Jugend. At the fall of Berlin in 1944, he was captured by the Russians and shipped to a camp in Poland. He returned to Berlin in about 1948 at the time of the famous Berlin Airlift. He was taken under the wing of some Americans and ended up in Torrance, California in about 1950.

Siegfried Approaches a heavily laden Bonnie. About to call me Sir!

Soon afterwards he as he describes it “Receives a letter from the President inviting him to serve his country and accept a draft into the army.” Not yet a citizen he declines and is advised it is not optional. He reports for duty, receives basic training and is advised that he is on the way to war, for the second time in his life.

In a moment of brilliance he tells his CO that they are sending him to the wrong place because he speaks German, Russian and Polish. This will be of no use in Korea. For once the army shows some sense and reassigns him to a base near Frankfurt as an interpreter. There he stays for three years. As he does not drink, smoke or gamble – he proudly tells me all of the above are bad for your health – lethal he says, he returns to the US with money in his pockets and what is in 1954 a very rare item, a Mercedes Benz!!

He starts a small business, gets married and does quite well. A few years later when he and his wife are getting the hang of the American way of  life and in particular, the accumulation of material assets, she tells him one day that there are more meaningful things to do with their lives. All this time I am waiting for a request for money! I can smell it coming.

So they pack up, sell up and off they go to the Amazon River Delta, where they live amongst the local Indians for the next twenty years, teaching them carpentry, vegetable cultivation, basic heath care and how to read and write. He speaks fluent Portuguese and Spanish. Later they spend time doing the same thing in Peru. I tell him he should write a book. He tells me that he has and rushes off to get me a copy.

This is my favorite photo so far. He rushes off to get me a copy of his book. I see he was in a hurry leaving the loo and that the toilet paper is still hanging out of the top of his trousers

I have glanced through this and it is very interesting for sure and will be read. I offer him a donation for the book, which he readily accepts.

I did not see Eskimo Bill again, presumably Eskimo Pie has welcomed him back into her furnace.

Today I have taken the day off at the hotel in Fairbanks. The rest of the team have ridden to the so called Arctic Circle to have the obligatory photos taken against the sign. They are all trying to pack in as much motorbiking as possible. Their tour ends on Sunday when my big trip back only starts. Another 4000 miles in the following two weeks. I do not need this ride today, 400 miles there and back. To nowhere in particular. Eight to ten hours in the saddle.

I use the time to consolidate my things. Laundry done. Badly needed with everything starting to stink a bit. Although my socks and underpants are washed every night, as are my teeth brushed (my mother specifically instructed me to do this before going to bed and I always listen to her), this does not clean them like a washing machine. So they are now all in fine shape. My admin is also up to date, as are my e-mails.

It turns out to have been the right decision. The team leader, who is not the usual person has taken the wrong turn about 30 miles into the ride. There is only one road out and one fork in it and he takes the wrong one. Yes he is blond and his name is not coincidentally Dom! So they all ride 400 miles to nowhere in particular and return dirty and tired.

I have invited the Crosby’s, my Lake MacDonald friends for dinner. They come in from their cabin in the wilderness and we have a great meal at the Restaurant nearby. An excellent evening as well. I will see them again in the fall when Eveanne and I travel through New York State to Maine and New Brunswick. They live near the Finger Lake District which is of particular interest to me as it is an emerging wine growing area.

Tomorrow we leave towards Valdez and sleep midway in a place called Paxson.

Good Night and Good Luck

Copyright 2012.