Riding Out On A Limb On The Labrador Highway, Five Days On The Worst Of Roads, The Slowest Race Through A Barren Wilderness To Meet A Ferry That May Not Be There

By R. Grammaticus

...In the trucker magazine article a photo caption described the 389 as "some of the most grueling road in North America".  In the text the scenery is described as "rugged and mountainous"..." the majority of the vegetation is made up of stunted black spruce trees."...There are about 800 kilometers of dirt roads, 555 of which is the TLH between Labrador City and Goose Bay, opened in 1992.  The (air brake) lines running under the trucks have to be covered with rubber tubing or holes will develop after several trips due to the sandblasting with rocks and dirt.  "The Trans Labrador Highway is the epitomy of a dirt road, covered with sand, deep mud and jagged bedrock."

My local BMW mechanic heard of the TLH too.  He knew a rider who tried it and broke his Beemer's frame in the attempt.

These warnings were too late.  By this time the vacation was only a few weeks away and there was simply nowhwere else that appealed to me.  For the annual pilgramige, I had to go somewhere.  So I went.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Grammaticus
• Release date: Jun 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995157903

Book preview

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Riding Out On A Limb On The Labrador Highway

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Five Days On The Worst Of Roads

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The Slowest Race

Through A Barren Wilderness

To Meet A Ferry

That May Not Be There

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Ronald Grammaticus

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Copyright 2016 Ronald Grammaticus

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-0-9951579-1-0

Excerpts

"…The wind increased and so did the rain, now falling diagonally. So much for the scenery; looking up from the job of continuously inspecting the road was out of the question and my glasses were now too rain-speckled to clearly see through anyway.

Suddenly the front wheel went way over to one side, then the other; all symptoms of a flat front tire and I came to a clumsy foot-stomping halt. Looking down I saw that the wheel was rim-deep in sand. At least the tire was OK. I resigned to churning along in first gear, the rear wheel fishtailing and swimming around, with my feet held out to catch the bike should it tip over too far and sometimes, when all else failed, peddling with them to stay upright. The pavement ended only a few hours ago and there would be days more of off-road riding. It couldn’t stay like this forever. It had to get better.

It didn’t. It got worse."

"…I had to stand on the foot pegs to see over the rain covered and fogged windshield and choose which wet sand and rocks were the least treacherous to steer the front wheel over. I then headed north again on 389 and deeper into the wilderness.

About half an hour later found me nursing the throttle in first gear through a particularly sloppy section that required the feet to be held out again for some corrective foot pedaling in the wet mud.

The engine began misfiring, badly.

My heart sank to rock bottom. Was it the battery’s charging system after all and now the battery was drained to the point of not being able to run the engine? The voltmeter needle was pointing to 0 volts but the warning light was not on yet either so the earlier decision to ignore the voltmeter was stuck with. Now the engine had to be revved up to prevent it from stalling and the clutch had to be worked endlessly to keep the speed down in order to wrestle the bike through the mud. It was unbelievable how bad this was getting. I fully expected the engine to sputter out and completely die, leaving me stuck in the muck in the diagonal rain and wind out on this lonely road in the middle of nowhere - a fool who pushed his luck too far."

…If that ferry was missed three days from now at Goose Bay and the bike and I were still intact and mobile, a decision would be made then whether to wait there for four days for the next one or return on this horrible road.

"…As I finally caught up to the road grader, the operator stopped and actually got out of the cab and climbed onto its back to have a look at me. Up close, the machine was an ancient-looking, beat-up thing. He was a stereotypical image of a northern Quebecois, a big bearded guy wearing a toque and plaid shirt who watched intently as I churned and fishtailed up, carefully and successfully punched through the sand windrow and proceeded by slowly doing the strange sidewinder waltz with my bike. I risked a quick thumbs-up and a grin and went back to clenching the handlebars and inspecting the road. I could at least pretend I was enjoying this.

To him, it must have been a forlorn sight: compared to four (or more) wheelers with shelter and stability, here was a smaller, impractical and unstable vehicle out in the elements in this big wilderness. Judging by his open-mouthed expression, when he identified the province on my license plate, his presumed reaction could not be blamed: Crazy Anglais!"

"…I had a roast beef dinner and brew and stewed over my uncertain situation, as well as tomorrow’s ride. Goose Bay is 288 kilometers from here. Compared to today’s total distance, fifty more kilometers had to be ridden which could require one or two more hours. Since the ferry departed at 5:00PM, that was cutting it close. However, the next section of road was supposed to be in better condition.

Was there anything I had missed?

Was there any way to shorten the travel time to the ferry?

Could I still make it there on time?

Are you up here for work? asked the same blonde, trying to make conversation. She apparently ran the lounge as well as the hotel desk.

No, I grinned back sheepishly, Just vacation.

She gave me a funny look and ended this intercourse in its infancy, deciding to stand somewhere else and perhaps polish the wine glasses in the company of saner types."

"…Out in the mud and dirt of the highway, as if part of a grand conspiracy, the sky immediately became darker and it began to rain heavily. Through the heavy downpour, the surrounding landscape appeared to be flat stretches of forest interrupted only by tracts of swamp. Forced to stay in first gear as usual, the bike slowly churned down the mud road through this gray and green scene of desolation.

Just for the sake of appearance, I hoped to be in better conditions when my two recent acquaintances would catch up. After all, my image was at stake now that I had a fan club, even though it had a membership of only one, maybe two. What seemed like five minutes later, a horn tooted and they drove by. I couldn’t see them anyway, through my speckled and fogged glasses, plus the curtains of rain between us plus their spattered, steamed windows, each adding its own translucent film to the miserable view. It seemed more like ghosts passing by in a dim world of roaring rain and squishing mud."

"…It was late morning when a vehicle coming the other way flashed its headlights, a large red pickup truck with a camper on the back. At the rolled-down driver’s window the concerned face of a bearded guy in his forty’s peered out.

You’re out in the open and on your own so I thought I should warn you. There’s a big black bear back a-ways on the road and it’s acting kind of aggressive. We watched him for a while and he won’t get off of the road. He’s about two kilometers back.

I immediately decided to take a break, giving the critter time to move on. Why would it be acting like that? During last year’s trip I saw at least one bear every day in the Yukon and made a point to stop and look each time. Every one of them immediately bounded away at impressive speeds.

Two kilometers later, there was no bear in sight. At five kilometers I relaxed. At twelve kilometers, however, while ascending a hill I suddenly saw up on the crest ahead the profile of a large bear pacing back and forth across the road and looking down at me. The scene could only have been worse if he was licking his chops and surrounded by scattered bones and gnawed on motorcycle helmets.

I stopped at a safe distance to wait. What the heck could inspire a bear to loiter in one area for such a long time? On this road surface, being difficult to stay upright at any time, how would I maneuver or accelerate around him without falling down if he charged? What if he charged now? How long would it take for me to turn around and accelerate to a speed faster than his? Could I even go