We headed north from Calgary towards Jasper along the Icefields Parkway, rated one of the top journeys in the world.

It probably isn’t but it’s certainly better than most. How do I know that? Well me and the old girl cycled it in 2014 in the opposite direction.

Truth be told, the ‘engine house’ (stoker) of the tandem was Susan.

Here’s the ‘engine house’ in 2014 contemplating why she brought a passenger on a tandem.

And here’s us passing the same spot, 11 years later.

This time around I’ve got an ‘engine’ that needs less maintenance!

Ooooooh that’s nasty ‘big helmet heid’. Remember the problems and heartache the motorbike has given you!

Ooooooooh I hear you and you’re absolutely right! And yes, yes I agree – it’s actually the other way around!

So ‘high maintenance’ Clif and ‘low maintenance engine room’ Susan tackled the Icefields Parkway once again and we couldn’t bloody believe it! What couldn’t we believe? We couldn’t believe we had actually cycled these rollercoaster roads through the mountains. Madness!

This time, we had great weather for our journey and the scenery was outstanding.

We even stayed at the same motel and I had a beer with a view.

So you think we’ve got it difficult, at times, on the motorbike? Well have a look at days gone by -there’s no comparison when it comes to hardship.

Here’s the ‘engine house’ in 2014.

That’s the Athabasca Glacier in the background and, thankfully, the snow plough has just been through to clear the road.

Here’s me in front of the same glacier today. Yes, I’m smiling, nae pedaling today!

Let’s have another photo of today’s ‘engine room’ that made the Icefields Parkway journey so pleasant this time.

We loved both trips and wouldn’t change either one. Times of our lives.

So we travelled the 232km Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper and thoroughly enjoyed the memories.

In Jasper we had another ‘deid heids’ hotel. Yes, it’s a shame and Susan says she doesn’t like it but they’re deid and there’s nothing I can do but enjoy them. Well you know what I mean!

From Jasper our carefully laid out plan was to head north to Fort Nelson and then west towards Alaska. Sometimes plans have to deal with issues and, unsurprisingly, a big issue arose – forest wildfires! Massive wildfires.

The blue dot is us. The plan is to travel north.

Now there’s a problem when a man has a plan and a plan that he very much likes. He’s proud of his plan. His plan is the best way to accomplish the task. He’s committed to his plan.

Unfortunately, this plan was through two major areas of wildfire. The roads were open though one did have a 100km contra flow and perhaps several hours of waiting on a motorcycle in smoke and embers. No fun.

Even knowing this it took a lot of discussion and hand wringing to finally abandon the plan.

The alternative route north (the only alternative) was the Stewart-Cassiar Highway. It’s more remote with less services, slower and prone to closure.

So the man with no plan had to draft a new plan mapping routes, distances, accomodations, gas stations and food. Then factor in prevailing weather conditions, potential contingencies and so on. Thereby a new 5 stage plan was born.

Leaving Jasper and heading into the Canadian wilderness with a dodgy fuel gauge was, however, a slight concern. But we had a contingency. I love a contingency.

You see we have a petrol bag – a flexible canvas bag with liner, that we’ve carried throughout the Americas. It’s a few years old but it’s been our constant companion, ready to help us, ready to be the saviour. One day I thought I would be telling you the story of the petrol bag that saved our bacon.

So, when we topped the bike up with petrol, before leaving Jasper, I brought the petrol bag into action for the first time, unstrapping it from the pannier where it’s never moved since 2023.

As I’m getting the petrol nozzle ready, Susan turns over the bag to the underside and sees some instructions. Damn I think, I know what’s coming next!

‘Have you read the instructions?’

She knew the answer. She didn’t have to ask that question!

Of course I hadn’t!

But it was too late. I was at the petrol pump, the pump was whirring and I had the nozzle in my hand. Not only that, the pressure was on me as there was a queue of cars waiting, drivers watching.

I should mention, a couple of the petrol stations went up in flames last year during the Jasper forest fires. So there’s always a long queue at this station.

Back to the story.

There I was, petrol pump nozzle in hand, ready to engage and people staring. I mean have you ever seen a person fill a bag with petrol? Neither had they! I was a disaster waiting to happen and they could somehow sense it.

This was no time to read instructions. This was a time for action.

I engaged.

Susan held the bag in a horizontal manner and I pumped. The bag slowly filled with petrol and, when full, I put the cap on. It was actually a bit trickier and messier than that but let’s not get into details.

I got the job done. Who needs instructions?

I’m now wallowing in a self congratulatory manner after a task well done. Susan still thinks I’m an idiot for not reading the instructions but I don’t care. I’m successful.

Then Susan has to go and rain on my parade! Honestly, sometimes I feel she hates to see me happy!

‘It’s leaking, it’s leaking’!

‘Look’ she says pointing to the steady dribble falling onto the garage forecourt.

My self congratulatory world came crashing down. I stared at the dribbling dribble willing it to stop. It didn’t.

I knew I had to take action and get the dribbling bag of fuel away from the petrol pumps. Conveniently, Susan was the one actually holding the dribbling bag.

‘Take it over there’ I said, pointing to the back of the forecourt where there were some bushes.

Susan calmly walked over to the back of the forecourt leaving a trail of petrol behind her.

Meanwhile, I moved the motorcycle away from the petrol pump and gave myself some thinking time. Yes, I’m aware my teammate, my partner, my pillion, is standing with a dribbling bag of petrol but she’s calm. Well as calm as any person can be with a dribbling bag of petrol. The kind of rock you need in a dribbling crisis.

As soon as everyone has stopped staring at us and moved on with what they were doing, I moved in and took control. Susan, of course, gave advice but I sorted it. Well done me.

Oh don’t ask what happened to the bag of petrol! Move on please! Stop being so curious!

Look there were a number of options and I chose one. It wasn’t perfect and if you’re a sensible person it’s, most likely, not the course of action you would have taken.

Now let’s get on, please.

Susan confirmed there were no security cameras and we made our escape. Sorry, I mean, we made a quick departure towards Prince George.

The old plan was dead, long live the new plan.

• Adventure motorcycle
• BMW 1250 GSA
• Canada