An Extreme tale

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Extreme Tale.”

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” — Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
When was the last time that sentence accurately described your life?

The prompt for today, “An Extreme Tale,” directly applies to when, I was motorcycling along the Alaska Highway. In my motorcycle travels across the US, I have viewed various forms.


One sunny morning while traveling along the Alaska highway on my motorcycle pulling my motorcycle trailer, I spent most of the morning dodging frost heaves along the roadway and I must say, the state of Alaska is diligent in posting orange cones marking these locations to alert drivers of the road hazards.

Sings were posted advising of the various types of wildlife to view and watch for as you travel, however, nothing prepared me for a herd of 30-40 buffalo roaming directly in the roadway as I traveled one morning.

At first, like all travelers the sight is incredible, however, as I sat on the motorcycle parked with my kicked stand down taking photos of the buffalo in the roadway licking the asphalt, which apparently they lick the salt left over from the winter, it became clear I  parked on their feeding grounds.

When an approaching tractor-trailer from the opposite direction blew its air horn startling the herd of Bison, they began galloping along the roadway trying to escape the path of the approaching tractor-trailer. Of course, the galloping herd was galloping in my direction, and my only form of transportation.


For about two-seconds I froze with fear realizing one of these 400 – 1000 pound behemoths will collide with me and the motorcycle. So I fired up the Honda Gold Wing, kicked up the kick-stand, released the clutch, and sped away like a rocket leaving earths orbit, weaving in between the massive beasts. When I checked my mirrors, I, saw stunned drivers determining how to avoid being stuck.

When I passed the tractor-trailer driver, he waved at me, as I shifted from third, to fourth gear, realizing I just survived a Buffalo stamped.

Me, and the ” Wanderer, the name I gave the motorcycle” continued along for a mile before slowing down and recalling my harrowing adventure and thought.

“That was the best of times and the worst times.”



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