Turning 60 On Two Wheels – Part 2: My Honda Trail 125 Journey On The Kettle Valley Railway

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– Posted on November 14, 2025

Image of a Honda Trail 125 motorcycle next to a Gray Creek Pass sign

After the extended bike pack trip across the province in Part 1 there remained a last logistical issue. I had abandoned my truck 650 km along Highway 3 with the kind people in Princeton. The original and sensible plan was to ride in the comfort of Rod’s CR-V to retrieve it.  But I kind of knew before I even started the bike trip that was way too rational a plan for a man going through a change of life. Four days later, the tent and gear were strapped to the somewhat less than mighty Honda Trail 125 which I wrote about last year.

Not sure what to blame my desire to take a trip on my motorcycle on.  Even as recently as this summer, when my wife, who does actual motorcycle trips, accompanied me on a hiking trip to the middle of BC I wasn’t enamoured with the idea.  It took her bike and a Crosstrek to haul all our camping and hiking gear plus a dog.

I much enjoyed the temperature controlled, quiet and safe interior of the car while she battled rain, heat, wind and traffic.  The need to be “on” when you are on a bike is great for the brain, but it gets mentally exhausting.

It was quite a pleasant trip considering we were in a tent and treated to an unseasonable amount of inclement weather. But I would say that, as I had the benefit of heated seats and a steering wheel.

Admittedly, a BMW R18 Transcontinental is a lot more appropriate touring machine than the Trail 125, which has been my primary errand vehicle since the snow melted. I like puttering around on it, in town and in the woods. But a cross-province trip really wasn’t what it was built for, though there are a certain subset of masochistic owners who push these things to ridiculous lengths.

I am a very new motorcyclist, and until very recently I really had no inkling or desire to hit the road and travel, and not just because I watched Easy Rider in high school.  It took me 40 years after getting my car license to get my motorcycle version. The other side of this equation though, is that despite me now being 60 and officially a grown up, I still had the same old feelings that continually stalk me as I slowly die at my boring office job.   No matter how boldly I phrase an e-mail, or how vigorously I concatenate two adjacent columns in an Excel spreadsheet or even how bravely I venture down to the coffee room for that risky second cup of java with half a packet of sugar, it doesn’t really satisfy the inner me and my love of adventure.  Which come to think of it, is likely what motivates a lot of weekend warriors on motorcycles who want to break free and get away from the humdrum monotony of earning a living.

I am under no illusions that motorcycling is as cool to non-motorcyclists as we two wheelers believe it to be.  We may have this inner monologue that we are daring rebels risking it all, living hard, terrifying the local townsfolk, and attracting the admiring glances of ladies with tattoos, leathery tans and unruly bosoms. But the truth is, I think the only people who regularly notice motorcyclists are other motorcyclists.  Fortunately for me I have long accepted my lack of coolness.  I have a pretty big attachment to my own skin, so I wear full gear every ride, which is smart but dweeby.  And there is the whole Trail 125 thing.  Only some people get the attraction.  Not saying that I don’t try to be cooler sometimes; unsuccessfully of course.  On a completely unrelated note, I am determined to get the perfect obituary picture for that hopefully distant day when I need it.  Which might explain the next picture, unless of course it doesn’t.

Anyways, as much as motorcycling is often more about talking about bikes than actually riding, I should get to the part of this story where I describe the trip.

As mentioned in a previous article (HERE), the 125 is really not a very good motorcycle. It has a top speed of about 90 km/h if I meet the following conditions:

  1. I  tuck myself in over the tank,
  2. the prevailing winds are behind me,
  3. I have had a light breakfast, and
  4. I can summon the right combination of bravery and recklessness to hang on at that speed in the wake of speedier vehicles.  Which sadly is all of them.

With those things in mind, I plotted an off-highway route that, where possible retraced the bicycle route I had just finished. Some parts of the railways were non-motorized requiring a bypass or two. I planned to minimize the hated high speed pavement sections. Having successfully made it this far in life, I have no desire to come to an untimely end caused by an inattentive driver wandering all over the highway in their camper. I only had 2 days available, so I was looking at a fair bit of saddle time each day.

In part one, I think I mentioned turning 60 and already having memory issues.  So I got up early, checked all my camping and motorcycling gear just to be sure there was no repeat of the dried-up rubber cement fiasco that had wrecked my enjoyment of several days of the bicycle part of this adventure.   Everything was all there.  Or mostly it was. I forgot my wallet at home and had to do a 40 minute backtrack to retrieve it. But eventually I was at least on my way to Gray Creek Pass.

Compared to the demoralizing slog up and over with the bicycles, the Honda made shortish work of the climb. Even with the relatively small amounts of suspension travel and small tires the ride is far more comfortable than a mountain bike.  And the brakes were immensely better on the long downhill sections.

And within a couple of hours, I was in the ferry lineup to board the MV Osprey 2000 to cross Kootenay Lake. This is a very popular motorcycle route with hundreds of miles of scenic curvy secondary routes.

The modern ADV bikes with their hard luggage containers, and wind protection were built to cover the miles in speed and comfort. I wasn’t experiencing either of those things, though I humbly think my bike was at least more aesthetically pleasing. These gentlemen were having a cracking good time talking about the air box modifications they were doing to their bikes, and I didn’t want them to feel pity for me and my plucky but unimpressive motorcycle, so I took the opportunity to slink over to the coffee place and steel myself for the next section of the trip which involved a bit of time on pavement. At least it was just 80 km/h roads, a speed which I could attain.

I remembered to take a picture of some past and present Chevrolet muscle on the boat. They must have enjoyed the curvy roads as much as the motorcycles did:

I stopped very briefly in Nelson to take a picture of a Fairbanks-Morse CPA-16-4 built in 1954 which would have pulled freight over the abandoned railways I was now traversing:

Once back on dirt, I was a lot more comfortable. The Castlegar to Christina Lake section was fun and scenic.

The 1 km Bulldog tunnel was a highlight. And maybe not as scary as the sign made out:

There were plenty of tunnels along the way.

Even in the tunnels the Honda barely made a noise.

And old trestles which made for some nice scenic stops.

The Honda also made short work of the Paulson Summit in contrast to the interminably long day on the bicycle.

Slowly but surely, I made it to Grand Forks the first night.  And back into my tiny little shelter.

Day 2 started a bit damp. But the scenery was nice on the climb up to Eholt. The right of way is narrow in spots with no guardrails, so I rode carefully as I didn’t want to plunge to my death in a moment of inattention.

There were some roads where the Trail 125 was very much in its element, puttering along in 2nd and 3rd gears. It was seemingly made for roads like this.

As there had been back at Kootenay Lake, there were ADV groups everywhere, like this one in Beaverdell. As I had just completed what felt like a long stint on a rainy Highway 33 that was actually only about 15km I concluded that these Africa Twins and the BMW GS were obviously superior in every way to my motorcycle for touring.  On the other hand, at least I was having a lot less fun at this point than they were.

It was fall car show time.  There were so many opportunities to take pictures.  But that meant stopping the bike and degloving.  You will have to take my word for it that there were multiple Studebakers and a rare 2 door Valiant wagon that caught my eye.  In some of the more rural areas it seems that every third property has some kind of old truck on it.

I don’t like to miss many of these old Chevrolets.

A sad old Cargo Star watching the world go.

This handsome old GMC fuel truck was keeping an eye on the trail.

I really should have stopped and took more pictures while I was on the pavement, but I just wanted the main highway parts over with.

There are some recurring thoughts that persist when riding a Trail 125 on the highway:

  1. Please, please, please no more sidewinds.
  2. Surely this can’t be fourth gear.
  3. Why does BC not have any flat stretches?
  4. This is still better than being at work.

So having had enough of Highway 33 I chose to cut the corner and head from Beaverdell to Penticton over the Carmi Forest Service Road.  I was blessed with pouring rain which turned what should have been a pleasant 40km into a slimy, low speed, mud fest. The lack of power probably helped me as I stayed upright despite my semi street-oriented tires.

After the drenching it was good to be drying out in Summerland prepping for the final hour out to Princeton and one last look up to the East Side of Okanogan Lake where the Kettle Valley Railway trail runs.

After an uneventful final hour, I completed my 620 km adventure ride finishing just before dark. I loaded up the bike onto the truck and started the long drive home as I had work to be at in 12 hours.  I was looking forward to not crossing the province again for a while on either two or four wheels.

The Honda of course was no worse for wear at all. Before I even left on the journey I would have opined that 200 years from now, the last running internal combustion machine on earth will be some type of Honda Cub. Now I am even more convinced.  Other than mud and dust everywhere, there was zero indication the bike had left the yard. I spent $18 on gas.  Despite the throttle being absolutely pinned on the highway sections no oil was burned.  The semi-automatic clutch worked just as abruptly as it always had.   I commuted to work on it the rest of the week.

I note a lot of people were happy to see the Trail 125 out making a trip like this.  Individual riders on Harleys and Gold Wings were very complimentary.  Many riders started their riding careers on Trail 90s it seems. There were plenty of good stories and reminiscing from people who had ridden one in their youth. People on both trips were so nice and encouraging.   The whole adventure reconciled the concept of being 60 and still being a viable human for me. I may even do this again sometime.

And as a postscript, I did make it 5 days without a trip over the passes at least.

And once again I just didn’t get any good Curbside pictures.  But there is a new addition to the family fleet.