There’s a bond that comes from having travelled with someone, especially if the experience involves two people. There are ups and downs and only the two of you can share those moments and know the story behind them in detail. There’s that connection, I’ve found, when travelling with someone else by motorcycle. As sometimes things don’t go to plan and the two of you have to figure out how you’re going to circumvent or solve a problem, it can sometimes result in a shared moment of exhilaration or a rush of adrenaline or perhaps even jubilation that you got through it together. With Mike Whitfield there were several of these experiences on the four rides we shared, me on my Kawasaki KLR650 and he on his BMW F650GS.
Back in 2012 when I committed to two weeks on the road riding up into northern British Columbia, Mike accompanied me to Prince George. In the two days it took to get there, we encountered a traffic jam caused by a serious accident on Highway 1 near Spences Bridge. We had been following the Thompson River. As we realized that the stop in traffic was going to last for hours and we were stuck in August’s thirty-degree heat, we broke out a paper map, opened it up over his top box and started thinking of ways to circumvent the problem. We decided we could go back to Spences Bridge and head east on Highway 8 towards Merritt, then veer off north along the 97c to Logan Lake then get to Cache Creek and continue along the 97. We hopped back on our bikes, turned around and then led a conga line of other vehicles that decided to follow our lead along the twists and turns of Highway 8, following the Nicola River. It was at our first stop for gas, near the junction with 97c, that the next problem surfaced: my bike was having trouble starting.
Between the heat and the anxiety of my bike not functioning well on the first day of the trip, I was getting down. Mike brought me a bottle of water he picked up when he paid for gas. I thanked him and drank it in one go. I hadn’t acknowledged how thirsty I was. I felt much better after the cold water and confessing to Mike my worries about the bike. He assured me he’d be there to help if the bike broke down, but, as he pointed out, it was running now, and with a smile and a pat on the shoulder I nodded and found the confidence to carry on. We decided to push to our destination at Loon Lake northeast of Cache Creek. The bike ran fine as we rolled at speed past the moonscape of the Highland Valley copper mine, and we eventually stopped at a fuel station at Cache Creek. But in low gear my bike continued to stall. If I pushed on quickly into second gear, revolutions held and the KLR would charge on. Mike and I decided we’d get to our bed and breakfast and look into the bike’s repair at a place we’d discovered online in Prince George. Luckily the B&B had us parking on a hill, ensuring a swift downhill startup for the KLR to encourage it from stalling when heading out next morning.
Next day, the KLR continued to stall while idling. I had to keep the throttle open in neutral at stops to keep the engine running. I imparted my worries to Mike at a stop outside Quesnel. He continued to encourage me along, listening to my concerns patiently and his smile and lighthearted way continued to buoy my spirits. In that encouraged frame of mind I remembered the idle control knob on the KLR. A simple turn of the knob raised the idle of the bike by a few hundred RPM ensuring the bike wouldn’t stall. I had it serviced at Cycle North in Prince George where they quickly diagnosed an unclean carburetor was the problem. It was cleaned and the KLR worked very well after its service.
Prince George was unfortunately where I had to part with Mike. He had an important appointment to get to in a few days in Vancouver and couldn’t miss it. But I was so glad to have had him as my travel companion for a couple of days. His lighthearted, jovial and compassionate demeanour got me through my initial trepidations, and gave me the push I need to continue on to Smithers and Highway 37.
Those trepidations of mine came back when riding on northern Vancouver Island a few years later, but as usual Mike always picked my spirits up. We were in Holberg, having spent the day before riding gravel from Port Hardy and then walking around the forestry town admiring life on the northern extreme of the island. But I hadn’t slept well, my anxieties about the day’s riding ahead exacerbated by my lack of sleep. With a lighthearted comment and a smile and an encouraging pat on my back, Mike managed to do more to lighten my mood than anything I could have conjured. The next day’s riding featured some more slipping and sliding on gravel, plus a speedy push along Highway 19 to catch a ferry to the mainland, but it was his company I was glad to have, as I went further than I would have had I been alone.
Mike’s ability to program waypoints into his GPS system was what got us enjoying the secondary roads on our return from Mount St. Helens in Washington State in 2014. I remember seeing him, sitting at the hotel room desk, programming in coordinates, trying to trick the GPS he said so that it wouldn’t take us on the boring speedy Interstate highways. And it was his care and thoughtfulness that had us riding the side roads less travelled and made that trip so memorable.
Mike had been more than just a travel companion to me, he was a mentor as well. His riding experience went all the way back to his younger days in Scotland and he had been on some incredible motorcycle journeys in New Zealand and all over the world. I always counted myself lucky when I was on a motorcycle journey with Mike. His advice, positivity, laughter and experience were always welcome.
When I heard of Mike’s passing a few months ago I was in disbelief. How could the positive, compassionate and good-humoured force that I had travelled with be gone? That didn’t make any sense. Surely, there was some mistake.
Mike had sold his BMW F650GS to me in 2017, when he had decided to retire from riding due to failing eyesight and health, and a desire to spend more time with his grandchildren. I understood, even though I was sad I wouldn’t be riding with him again. He also sold me the riding gear he had worn on our trip to Prince George and I wear it with pride whenever I go out riding. I was so lucky to have known Mike and it had been a privilege to travel with him as much as I did.
We rode the Duffey Lake Loop together earlier in the riding season in 2012, our first ride together. He had called it “Pemberton for brunch.” I laughed at that. Riding most of the Sea-to-Sky Highway before eleven o’clock was exhilarating. Enjoying his company over brunch was such a pleasant memory. We had talked about family. And the return via Lillooet and Lytton put the finishing touches on a wonderful one-day adventure, packing in seven hundred kilometres of travel. I’ll always remember him leading me, confidently riding his GS, to the next stop. It gave me confidence, assurance and peace of mind to watch him ride that day. I’ll never forget that.
What I feel is not just the emptiness from his loss, it’s the loss of the chance to share those memories of our travels together. Those moments will always be between us.
Thanks Mike. Goodbye.
