Snowbound At The Stowasis

The thought of halting our big trip in Alberta, Canada, or anywhere in fact, was utterly untenable. Approaching three years of maintaining a steady momentum on the road, why would we stop now? Yet staying a few nights over late summer at a friend’s place, affectionately dubbed “Stowasis,” (coined from our host’s surname, Nevil Stow, a renown RTWer whose home in Canmore, Alberta is a legendary stopover for travelers) merged rapidly into a fortnight, which fused at equal speed into the fall. The birds were busy in the trees, and the air still gave promise of warm if not mild days to come. Five months later and through the inexhaustible dictates of the warmest hospitality—not withstanding the coldest winter we’ve experienced to date—we stalled the motorcycling.

- Lisa Morris

While motivated by the fact that traveling invites much and more in the way of constant stimuli, which facilitates a myriad of firsts and fresh experiences. Waking with a daily excitement towards the unknown. But what if we could aspire to fulfill those wants and needs by parking the bikes and sink into a place? To seize new opportunities and not just forge fast friendships with people but build a meaningful history with them to boot. Fortuitously, that is exactly what transpired—courtesy of the motorcycling community in Canmore’s buzzing corner of the province.

Speaking of meaningful relationships, Pearl, my beloved F650GS springs to mind. She executed the ride from the bottom of the planet to the top. Graciously, from the southernmost tip of Argentina to the most northern navigable road in Alaska. All 50,000 miles of it through 21 countries. At 15 years of age, she rarely missed a beat, remained happy to be nursemaided on occasion and threw her all into teaching me to let go.

That said, there comes a time when you take stock with your head over your heart and arrive at a new place. Journey past the tipping point. Upon reaching a natural pause, coupled with our desire to undertake more technical terrain, warranted the necessity to change my motorcycle. Embrace less is more where size does matter. Traitorous as I felt, I had outgrown my first big bike.

Cue Mr. Jangles, a Suzuki DR650 bought for a song. Much taller than I’m used to—factory-lowered Pearl offered the ground clearance of a piece of paper by comparison—what an unadulterated joy this bike is to take off the pavement. Mr. Jangles glides effortlessly over gravel, weight shifts with the agility of a break dancer and transformed my confidence in the loose stuff. I couldn’t be happier whizzing my maracas off astride this dandy little DR. Where has this bike been my whole life?