Two Aleve, a bottle of soda, a cup of coffee, and a cookie. A time tested prescription for when you absolutely, positively have to ride for another two hours.
We pulled off the crappiest road either of us had ever seen. We'd been riding 100 mile stretch of the Alaskan Highway that was a muddy, potholed, cratered mess as the Canadian government was losing its battle with permafrost.
My arms and shoulders ached, my hands were formed into claws from gripping the bars, my hips and knees were throbbing, I had a headache and blurred vision from two hours of constant jarring.
I looked at Mary. She was limping andholding her back, a sure sign that sciatica was welling up.
We were filthy, our riding gear covered in brown mud. The motorcycle looked like it had been ridden through a bog, it's original color indistinguishable.
We took our helmets off. Our faces had huge smiles, the kind that couldn't be removed if you held our heads in a bucket of Botox. We made it to Alaska!
I could not remember when I felt this miserable and happy at the same time.