Article And Photos By: Scooter Tramp Scotty
Originally Published In The January 2015 Issue Of Cycle Source Magazine
I realize this is an old piece but it follows last month’s Alaskan adventure so I’ve decided to run it. Since boarding in Bellingham Washington, Adrienne and I had been camped among the city of tents that resided on the ship’s top deck for the past five lazy days. That was about to change. Since the sun never really sets in the summer months this far north, yesterday’s sunshine still shown brightly as the Malaspina pulled into dock on the shore of Juneau, Alaska at 5:30 am. Juneau is a coastal town of 35,000 souls that’s only accessible by air or sea: there’s not a single road that connects this small city to the rest of the world. We’d be laid over here until 1-am of the following night (if you could call it night. Then we were to board another huge car ferry for a two day ride across the open sea.
We broke camp, grabbed our gear, and hopped an elevator down to the car deck. There, beside the autos, campers and motor homes parked in the warehouse sized belly of this metal monster, my full dress Harley seemed insignificant as it waited in a corner with the other motorcycles. We reloaded the bike and mounted up. The HD engine echoed loudly through the ship’s vast hull. There has always been an inexplicable excitement I enjoy when riding an oversized motorcycle into new territory. As we putted up the ships steal ramp and onto the shoreline of Alaska I experienced that euphoria once again.
Holding to the philosophy that true adventure requires an uncertain outcome, I simply pulled onto the southbound coastal highway and accelerated. Twelve beautiful miles later we were in Juneau. We visited the local glacier, had a romp in the woods, then messes around town. Most everyone we met seemed almost overly friendly and I soon learned about an inexpensive campground just south of town. We started for it. The southbound coastal road led alongside one of the more upscale docks that cater to the constant flow of billion dollar luxury liners that permeate the summertime shores of Juneau. Of the many cruise ships I’d seen lately, the GRANDDADDY sat parked before us. I strained excited eyes to see the colossal rock climbing wall and enormous water slide that waited on her top deck! On her side, two exotic glass elevators hauled people a soaring 13 stories up.
“Jesus Adrienne!” I said, “Let’s see if we can get a tour of the Titanic here.” After parking our bike, we walked up the gangplank. On our approach to the entry I’d noticed that a man in a wheelchair was having some kind of problem with the plastic boarding card he was trying to insert into the ship’s computer. Beside him a small group of friends waited patiently. When the computer finally gave the go ahead, I grabbed Adrienne’s hand and mingled quickly into the crowd and we all passed the guards. We were on the ship! Suddenly a thought occurred, was this ship moving? The chance of setting to sea as stowaways while my bike sat behind was a bit disconcerting. I asked a passenger and learned that the departure was still 4½ hours away.
Hustling to the glass elevator, I pushed the highest button. The top deck offered a climbing wall, waterslide, basketball courts, ping-pong and shuffleboard courts, miniature golf course, helicopter pad, etc. A lower deck had three Jacuzzis and a swimming pool inside a glass terrarium with a transparent sliding roof. This thing sported a bar, live jungle plants everywhere, exotic poolside furniture with safari print upholstery, and two15-foot elephant torso sculptures set into a cascade of thick plant-life that thrived at the pool’s imitation headwaters. But what really cracked me up was the soothing sound of electronic crickets radiating from the ship’s sound-system. I tried the bar for a complimentary coffee and was told that a card was necessary to charge the order to my room. So much for that idea.
We explored more of the ship. There was a gym, fine art gallery, a library, coffee shop, movie theater, and even a Los Vegas sized gaming casino. Unbelievable. Having forgotten my camera, we visited the shopping mall to buy a disposable but soon learned that a deal struck with the Alaskan merchants mandated that the ship’s mall remain closed while in port to better persuade passengers to shop in town. That was it: no photos. We moseyed to the library to learn about the ship. The “Radiance of the Seas” was the Princes Cruise Line’s flag ship and this was her maiden voyage. The ship was bigger than the Titanic and weighed over twice the tonnage of the largest Aircraft Carrier we had in WW2!
More aimless wandering brought us to the entry of a huge seafood buffet. I asked a server if the spread was card or complementary and learned that it was on-the-house. No one seemed to notice the only patrons dressed in Levis, boots, and sleeveless T-shirts. While at the buffet I also learned that after dinner a ballet would perform in the forward theater. Of course we went. It was a great show. Afterwards it was time to leave the ship. A live band radiated mellow music as we crossed the lounge/bar located at the floor of an atrium. A couple was seated on a sofa there and the wife said, “Didn’t we see you two in town? How’d you get the motorcycle on the boat?
I confessed the truth. Both laughed and asked if we’d found the complementary buffet. “How are you getting off the ship?” the husband inquired. “You need a card, and when they stick it in the computer the passenger’s picture comes up.” “What are we gonna do!?” Adrienne exclaimed. “Tell the truth,” I replied, “What are they gonna do? Throw us in the brig? Call the cops? Doubt it. I think they’ll probably just boot us off the ship.” So we left the couch couple and headed for a boarding port. One little oriental guy and a tall woman guarded the exit. Although he appeared easygoing, the woman offered a Gestapo vibe. The man asked for our boarding passes. Adrienne kept walking as though he wasn’t there. “Miss. Stop. Please. Miss!” Ignoring his pleas, she continued to the shore. Guess that was her strategy.
I told Miss Hitler the truth. “…it was a lovely tour. But you see the motorcycle,” I pointed, “That’s our ride and it’s time to split before you set sail.” After more questioning they finally threw me off the ship. We reached the campground. There, beside a beat up old trailer, a handful of happy hippie types sat beside their campfire. After dismounting, we were quickly welcomed by Jason—the campground host—who introduced his four buddies. Soon we were sitting beside the evening’s fire as the fantastic beauty and unique northern magic began to weave its hypnotic web. Jason talked of some folks we just had to meet. Next he offered the use of his campground for free that night and the Alaska sunshine still glowed brightly as we set up camp at 1am.
The weather was cool and overcast as we sat in the trailer drinking morning coffee while Jason cooked a simple breakfast. “Kinda nasty out,” I said. “Juneau’s in a rain forest you know.” I hadn’t. After breakfast Jason picked up the phone. He soon hung up and said, “A couple guys will meet us at the Rendevous bar in half an hour. I’ll take my van and you can follow.” The gray sky had begun to drizzle as we mounted the FL. The Rendezvous was empty. Offering her hand, the barmaid said, “Scotty, Adrienne? I’m Margo”. The boys will be here any minute. Grab a seat. Like a drink?” We ordered coffee. “Jason?” “No thanks Margo. I can’t stay long.” He left soon after. Ten minutes later two bikers walked through the door and we were introduced to Ed and BC. A short bullshit session ensued. Finally BC said, “Poe is waiting. Time to go.” The truck carrying our two guides pushed north as my Electra Glide kept pace behind. We wore heavy riding gear against the chill of an overcast coastline.
Eventually we pulled into the parking lot of “Pappy Poe’s Pork Palace” We followed the men inside. The entire gang, who had most-graciously assembled to make our acquaintance, sat at a large table. We took seats among them. This small crowd (around 20), who represented most of the Panhandlers Motorcycle Club and their women, were loud and boisterous and their outbursts of laughter began to thaw our chilled bones. We were handed menus and Poe, an unusually large dude, said to order whatever we liked. We did. I learned that the Panhandlers MC—so named because they live in Alaska’s panhandle, had been around for 23 years and number around 25 members. This club sponsors the “Boogie Till Yuh Puke” run; a charity fundraiser that celebrates the summer solstice (a very big deal in Alaska) in June. Eventually someone suggested we move to the clubhouse. I headed for the register but the bill had already been paid.
The Panhandlers drove cars that drizzly day and I didn’t blame them. Behind a beautiful house belonging to a patch-holder named Brillo and his wife Konnie, a two-story building had been erected to serve as the Panhandlers clubhouse. I parked with the others. BC gave me a short tour of the club’s shop downstairs. The room was long with eight Panhandler bikes parked inside. At its end a motorcycle lift waited in the company of enough tools to possibly perform major engine work. A sweet setup. I shut the door and ambled upstairs to the clubhouse. The first thing apparent was a fully stocked bar. Above the Panhandler’s crude jokes and laughter a stuffed swordfish was nestled into a sea of woman’s undergarments. There was a pool table, small stage, and drum set too. The Panhandlers MC was no Mickey Mouse operation.
As the time passed people began to filter out. Down at the dock, the Kennicott would soon be waiting to take us across the deep sea for the two day trip to Seward, Alaska. We said goodby. It was 1am and sunshine still radiated brightly across the sky as the old Electra Glide putted slowly down the steal loading ramp. Two minutes later I brought the bike to rest inside the belly of this giant floating monster. We ambled to the top deck and set up camp. Soon I found myself sitting in the forward lounge with a cup of hot coffee. With a genuine feeling of impending adventure, I gazed through the forward windows and watched the endless waters roll by as the Kennicott set out to sea.
