I’ve never been one to store much faith in omens or superstitious happenings. I believe in science, wind socks and the proper inflation of tires. I also have a reverence for Mother Nature and all her oddities. I can witch water but can’t explain why. To me omens and superstitions are something that sells books and movies, usually ones that make me nod off. But to be fair to all those that place great store in omens and superstitions, I hold an open mind to anything off the natural bell curve and this week, much to my chagrin, at the ripe old age of fifty something; I think I had my very first omen and here’s the story.

I may have mentioned once or twice that I’m heading off with my big brother, John, to Inuvik. He’s riding a, brand new to Canada, 2008 Honda 996 cc Varadero and I’m aboard my ’07 BMW GS Adventure. At this point, the clock is 120 hours to our blast off date of July 1 and both of us are smack dab in the middle of getting the two machines all set up.

Glenn Roberts had just completed his fabulous Alaska trip and although we wanted to sit down and shoot the breeze about northern travel, the timing just wasn’t going to let it happen, so we covered off the broad strokes by email and telephone, wished each other safe riding and headed off to separate corners of Canada.

Glenn is one of those guys that if there is something he can do to help out, he’ll be the first one in line, so it’s not uncommon for me to find a package from Glenn in my mailbox related to something I’m researching for an article, or something he simply thought was neat. Glenn also got straight A’s in the school of practical jokes and over the years I’ve received things like fake magazine covers exploiting my latest boo-boo that was caught on camera – like the time I dropped the OPP’s Golden Helmet’s Ride Master’s bike. It’s safe to say that whenever I get a big envelope from Mojo I generally try to open it where no innocent bystanders could get hurt, because I never know what might come flying out of it. Yesterday I pulled a big Mojo envelope out of my mailbox and that became part one of my omen.

The second part of my omen has everything to do with my dad. He was not only my father, but he was my friend, a crusty voice of reason and a fun riding partner. We had often spoken of taking a long bike trip together, but for some reason it just never seemed to happen. After a long and rewarding life we lost him in 2001. I sadly watched as my dad’s body simply closed up shop long before his mind came near to calling it a day.

My dad was a very well-read man who possessed an impeccable memory. He was also very fond of poems written by Robert Service and could recite poems like ‘The Shooting of Dan McGrew’ by heart, but my all time favourite was listening to him recite ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee.’ My dad was also a news broadcaster back in the 50’s for CJRH and CFGM, so on top of having a great memory he had a fabulous voice. As I grew up there were times when Robert Service’s wonderful words could be flawlessly heard, spoken by my dad around a fire. When the words softly ended and all that could be heard was the crackling of the embers everyone wished for more and if we were lucky we could nudge him on to another.

With the planning of any big ride there’s a multitude of things to be done, especially when everything needs to fit just so on two wheels. Even though I still had a pile of things to do, I found myself with a few free moments while waiting in my car. I looked over at the passenger seat and the Mojo package sat atop some mail and grocery store fliers, so with a couple of minutes to spare and because the windows were all rolled up I figured it was safe to open the Mojo envelope. After carefully opening the envelope I pulled out a beat up, rain splattered tourist’s guide of the Yukon and North West Territories entitled “The Last Great Road Trip.” I thought, cool, thanks Glenn, then I casually flipped the magazine open and what was on the first page I flipped to? Robert Service’s poem: ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee.’ I sat there dumbstruck. I tried to read it but for some reason my eyes got all watery and I couldn’t quite make out the words, even though I knew most of them. I don’t know about you, but what are the odds of that, in the midst of heading to the far north on two wheels, just happening? I think I’ll call it an omen, and a damned good one at that.

It took me some time to get my wits together and my eyes dry enough to read the poem and for some reason it seemed to come out sounding just like my dad. I phoned John and told him what just happened and things got real quiet on the other end of the line, “I think the old fellow wants to come with us,” John said.

It so happens that when my dad passed on, his wishes were that he be cremated and his ashes still reside in my home. So if during the month of July you’ve seen a pair of bikes travelling together that look like they’re equipped for war, one a loaded silver Honda Veradero and the other a red and white BMW GS each with a single rider you’ll know that there is actually a third rider present, because we’ll both be wearing a tiny necklace vial with some very important ashes in them. MMM

The opening lines to ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee.’

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see, Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.”

– Robert Service

The ‘Ol Man is finally making that bike trip with his lads.

Ride Safe. Ride (very) far! Stu