A series of highways stretching from Chile to Canada known informally as the Pacific Coastal Highway has its northern terminus in Lund, British Columbia. It seemed like a great idea to go see it for ourselves.

Three of us strapped our tents to our motorcycles and headed north on Saturday. We entered Canada through Sumas under gray skies, and spent the day working our way up the coast via ferries and the Sunshine Coast Highway, which is the local name for the B.C. stretch of the PCH.

According to a sign in the parking area of the Powell River ferry, the Sunshine Coast enjoys 2,000 hours of sunshine each year and only 40 inches of rain. We were there for some of the rain and none of the sunshine, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

After a long day flogging a motorcycle, most any meal is likely to be pretty tasty, but even allowing for the effects of 12 hours on the road on the willingness of the stomach to settle for just about anything, the dinner we had at the Laughing Oyster was … well, it was awfully darn good. I recommend the halibut in tarragon sauce.

Between my two companions, there are two Triumph motorcycles. On a previous adventure, we were standing with two Yamahas and one of the Triumphs at the bow of the Port Townsend ferry crossing to Whidbey Island when a deck hand approached and said to the Triumph owner, The captain wants to know what kind of motorcycle that is. Turns out the captain thought the Triumph looked pretty cool and had radioed from the bridge to ask. Not a word about the Yamahas.

On this past weekend’s trip, there was my Yamaha, a Honda, and the other of the two Triumphs. Everywhere we went, the Triumph was the conversation starter. It was getting old. The final straw? After dinner, I put on my riding clothes. As I opened the door, a couple about my age were just arriving from the parking lot. They saw me dressed to ride a motorcycle and, in excited voices, asked, Is that your Triumph?

Following a night at Okeover Arm Provincial Park, the trip home Sunday began with a ferry ride to Comox on Vancouver Island. Signs of civilization in Comox include Starbucks, which, despite violating the rule about eating in chain restaurants when on the road, was a necessary stop along the way.

We passed the time waiting for the ferry from Victoria to Port Angeles chatting with a couple who were in the first hour or two of a month‐long trip through the western United States as far south as San Diego. They were riding a pair of spotless BMW GS 650s loaded with what appeared to be every conceivable accessory. He was having trouble with his battery and could not get sufficient discharge to start the engine. As the ferry loaded, they stayed behind. The last we saw them was from the sun deck of the departing ferry as she pushed his bike while he popped the clutch. It did not start.

One last ferry ride for the weekend from Kingston to Edmonds and home at nine o’clock Sunday evening with 548 new miles on the odometer after leaving the previous morning concluded a great trip to see the end of the road.

I somehow managed to lose the SPOT record for the first day of the trip, which is why it does not show up here. The batteries failed late in the second day, which is why that record is incomplete. The battery issue was deliberate; I wanted to know how long a set would last, but I am still scratching my head over the missing SPOT record. It is probably with my missing socks.