More than just pine trees: A Conversation with Yvan and Oliver
Who is Yvan LeTourneau? A Manitoba rider who puts his eleven year old son on the back of a 2016 Kawasaki Concours and disappears across Canada for three weeks at a time. Last summer it was seven thousand kilometers. The adventures were originally planned by Yvan but as his son Oliver has become more involved, he is planning the trips now.
When Yvan and his wife had their boy, they got the same speech everybody gets.
"The world basically told us, well, you gotta give up your cool hobbies. And we said, not a chance."
Oliver was two years old the first time he sat on a snowmobile learning throttle control.
If you have never been to Manitoba, understand that this is less insane than it sounds. There is a groomed trail network out there that will take you anywhere in the province, and it starts at the end of Yvan’s driveway. Better than that, there are warm-up shacks scattered all through it, and when you pull in, somebody already has the fire going. Perfect for little guys on the trail to keep going.
So that is how a two year old learns to go adventuring. Bundled up, hot packs in his boots and hot packs in his mitts, sitting on the tank in front of his dad, going shack to shack all day.
At four he moved to the back of the motorcycle in his motocross gear. Day trips, good times, but finding street gear that actually fits a child took him years. He finally found it when Oliver was nine, out of a shop in the UK, a brand making genuine kids' street gear rather than scaled down toys.
That was the year they took the first real trip. Twenty five hundred kilometers, hotels and campgrounds mixed, up into Jasper. Yvan describes it as a test. See if the kid actually digs this.
He did.
"The first one was very much driven by me. Okay, hop on the bike, we're going for a ride. And then once he experienced it, he's the driving force behind it now."
Oliver had a big hand in planning this last one, and what he added were the side quests. Kayaking in Tofino. Zip lining in Whistler. Whitewater rafting in Golden. And a sixteen hour ferry, which the kid could not stop talking about before they left.
Then a stupid fan nearly ended the whole thing.
It was their longest leg of the trip, eight hundred kilometers, and as they rolled into their stop for the night Yvan noticed the rad fans were not coming on. On a full fairing bike, diagnosing that means everything comes off. So he did it in a Canadian Tire parking lot, because at least there he could buy whatever he ended up needing.
No blown fuses, not a short in the wires, the man needed a fan.
Nobody would help him. Not in Saskatoon, not in Edmonton, not anywhere into BC. He called ahead the whole way asking shops to simply order the fan so it would be there when he arrived, and shop after shop refused, because they were not going to touch it without diagnosing it themselves first. He walked them through what he had already done. No dice.
Meanwhile every campsite for the next three weeks was already booked and paid for. They could not stop.
He found the answer where riders usually find it, on a Concours forum. A guy with a parts bike, and the guy happened to live along their route. Money sent, fans left in the mailbox, picked up on the way through.
Yvan took both sides off his motorcycle, pulled the rad out, swapped the fans, and put the whole thing back together on the pavement. Four and a half hours total.
He does not talk about that day like it was the low point.
"He (Oliver) gets to see how to work through stuff and how to figure things out on your own. And if nobody's coming to help, how to just get her done."
Then they rode on and had the trip.
They kept the days to three or four hundred kilometers, which is about a hundred and eighty to two hundred and fifty miles for the Americans. Headsets in the helmets so they can talk, and music the whole way. The playlist was heavy on the Tragically Hip and Blue Rodeo.
Yvan also mounted an action camera on Oliver's chin, which turned out to be a great decision. The kid shoots what he sees. It keeps him watching the scenery instead of the back of his father's helmet, and he comes home with his own record of it.
Everything they own for three weeks fits on the bike - I was curious given I also do a lot of motocamping and feel like I max out my bike packing for one, but Yvan said it all fits - Sleeping bags and tent in the trunk. One saddlebag each, five days of clothes at a time, bear spray and cookware on Oliver's side, the camp stove on Yvan's. Air mattresses and pillows in dry bags on the crash bars. Baseball gloves and card games. They do laundry every five days and groceries every evening.
They get to camp early enough that Oliver can go be eleven. Find the beach, find the playground, make friends.
"Before him, I was all about the ride. I'm going to Phoenix and I'm just going to Phoenix, and once I get there I can relax." It was always a race. Now they gear down into hiking boots and walk into the ancient forest. Now every sign that says lookout or viewpoint gets taken seriously.
"I missed so much stuff. Looking back now, doing this kind of adventuring, I missed so much stuff. I should have taken the time to stop and smell the roses."
I asked whether that reverses when Oliver grows up and moves out, whether he goes back to burning across the country.
"No. There's no sense in racing across and skipping all the good stuff. That's a huge regret for sure."
Which is the thing about this whole story. Yvan taught his son to ride. Oliver taught him to slow down and look.
Oliver wandered into the call partway through, so I got to ask him some of this directly.
Whitewater rafting was his highlight this year, and there is a hike outside Tofino to an old plane wreck that has been sitting in the bush since the forties, which Oliver was very pleased to report everybody walked away from.
The ferry, though. "That is the biggest boat I've ever seen." They saw whales off the side of it. The crew went and found Oliver and invited them up to the bridge, walked him through the instruments, and that is where they got to see the dorsal fins and the tails coming out of the water.
I asked him what he likes better, the back of the motorcycle or his own dirt bike out in the woods.
"On the motorcycle I see more than just pine trees and open fields. But on the dirt bike I can go as fast as I want."
Which brings us to the part Yvan finds funniest. Oliver moved up to an 85 this season. Last year, on the smaller bike, Yvan could ride one handed out on the trails, taking pictures and video of his son.
"Now I can't do that and keep up. I'm focusing to keep up with him now. And it's a riot."
Oliver cannot get his full motorcycle license until seventeen or eighteen up there, so there are years of back seat left. Next summer they are thinking east for the first time, Ontario and Quebec and maybe all the way to the Maritimes, scheduled around a baseball season that is about to get serious.
The Takeaways
For new riders. Find your model's forum before you need it. Not one shop across three provinces would help Yvan get a part, and a stranger on a Concours forum left the fans in his mailbox for him.
For experienced riders. Yvan spent years getting somewhere fast and calls it his biggest regret. The lookout you keep blowing past is the part you will actually remember.
For all of us. When somebody tells you the kid means the end of the good stuff, understand that is a choice and not a fact. There is a family in Manitoba who said not a chance and is seven thousand kilometers into proving it.
