Thursday June 26. Weaverville to Sierra Madre California.   I am not sure when I decided that this road trip had come to an end. As I drive south on Interstate 5, I know all the routes that can take me to the coast, and those that run east toward Lake Tahoe. Turning east or west will extend the trip. Each time I come to an exit I hesitate, but I don't turn. I guess I just know that the ride is over. I do not struggle with it, but I know that I have had enough.

It is one hundred degrees by the time I reach Redding. It is only nine-thirty in the morning. This is going to be a very hot ride. The thermometer on my bag is pegged at one hundred and twenty. I start feeling light headed and stop for water and shade. I go into a washroom and soak my shirt and jeans. When I come out  the clerks are unsure of what I am doing. I buy a five pound bag of ice and several bottles of water. Out at the gas pump I load the pockets of my jacket with ice. I take the ice that is remaining in the bag and stuff it between my jacket and my chest.   As the ice melts, it soaks my shirt. It works pretty well for about an hour. I repeat it each time I stop for fuel. Notwithstanding the ice pack, the heat is tortuous. When the wind hits you it is like a blast furnace. I pass several cruisers wearing leather vest, shortly helmets and without gloves. I don't know how they do it. I decide to grind it out. There is very little to enjoy in this part of the ride. I concentrate and remind myself that this is not the time to make a careless mistake. After six o'clock it the temperature finally falls below one hundred.

I pull into the driveway. I have no overwhelming sense of euphoria. No sense of incredible accomplishment. I feel like I have do after completing a difficult endurance event, like a marathon. I am satisfied I have accomplished my goals. At the same time I am relieved the ride is over. I set out to experience the Yukon and Alaska, not as a tourist but as a traveler. I experienced hours of pure delight and seconds of sheer panic. For me, motorcycle touring is about pushing my personal comfort level. I did that. It is about feeling things differently. I've seen snow capped mountains painted emerald green and sky colored impossibly royal blue. I've seen glaciers that recall our pre-historic past. I have seen vistas that extended to the curve of the earth. I drove to an imaginary point on the earth's surface, that intersected with a navigable roadway. What else is there to say?

I pull the RT into the garage and close the door.

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