Friday the 13th...I should be in Port Dover.

Not!

Besides the run out from Stewart past the glaciers going out the way I came, this was not an eventful day...unless you count the closed gas station at Meziadin, where I needed to refuel.

Let me share the morning sky first.  Moonrise and sun on the town's glacier.

The need to refuel meant an hour or so of limping along, feathering the throttle, at 100, then 90,
then 80 in sixth gear, all the while doing mental calculations about 

• the size of the tank (21L), 
• the previous longest run before fueling (I don't actually remember), 
• when the "bars" on the fuel gauge change and how much is left (the last solid one before the "flashing" starts went off at 327 km on the tripmeter), 
• what the theoretical distance is to empty (420 km), 
• how far I had to go to get gas (385 km), 
• how fast I had gone on the top half of the tank (not too much...it affects the consumption rate, obviously), 
• how do you deal with bears when you're standing on the side of the road, waiting for a ride (honk the horn alot), and 
• why are the roads so empty this morning?

Once I fueled up at a First Nations station...not expected and just 10 km shy of the next major town,
I was feeling much better.  Hey, they even threw in some totem poles to make it interesting.

I went through the town just after this that had the most unique set of mountain tops...like a saw-blade...

I needed to refresh later on, so I went for a swim...the day being quite warm...in Burns Lake.

Lovely.

I refueled again behind some western riders, one of whom had a unique license plate.

The other, from Alberta on a Super Tenere, had a Dacre sticker.  Who'd a thunk that?

Into Prince George, order a Dominos, and get caught up on pictures and email.  Blog to be updated
later.