Epic Journey

Chapter One - How About A Smoke

Preface - It's time again. Come to Reg's world and sit back while we take a ride. This ride will consist of multiple parts breaking the days apart to keep it manageable. I'll try to keep my facts fairly factual and my times fairly timely, but let's not forget literary license.

Shall we?

here's the map from day 1


Chapter 1 - How About a Smoke?

It was a good day. Any day that you get to ride is, though. We were not being rushed. The next nine days were to be whatever we wanted. The anticipation of the last month was propelling us towards the trip of a lifetime.
After a few trips uptown to grab this and that we finally jumped on the bikes and got a quick pic to capture the moment. We were eager to get on the road and see what we could see. Personally, I had been looking forward to this journey for more than two years as I gazed at pictures from RVFR of roads that had not been tamed by me. Sure he had laid them down a few times, but it just not the same as me putting my own stamp on them.


here's Brian cruising by on hwy 41


Day one finds us on highway 41 heading north and east. The temp is warm but it's not that noticeable when you are just starting a trip and as excited as Newton being hit with an apple. Tooling right along at a brisk but never dangerous pace due to the enhanced load trial we are performing on our bikes simultaneously takes us probably fifty miles or so before out first small snag. Apparently neither of us (nor the GPS) knew of construction along hwy 41. Not so bad in an air conditioned car, a little tougher dressed in black leather sitting on a bike when the temps are rapidly crossing the 100 degree mark. At some point while waiting, I am fairly certain I saw Lucifer run bay saying, "It's too damned hot and I'm going inside." Anyway, after a while longer sitting on the bikes baking our family jewels, the highway crew moved us on at a brisk fifteen miles per hour. Joy.

Eventually, we made our way to our first of many refueling stops. Up to this point, attitudes remain positive and things are going well. It's a little warm, but that's a given in CA in the summer. After stretching and talking for a bit, we venture onto I-5.
Ahh, I-5. What can I tell you about I-5? Well, for one, it smells. Now granted, I like steak as much as the next carnivore, but let me tell you that Harris Ranch (famous for quality beef) is not the most pleasing place on earth to smell. In fact the aromas coming from that place inspire anything but appetite. I will have to estimate at this point, but I'm gonna say you could smell that place from something like 20-30 light years away. The methane emissions from there alone if captured are said to be sufficient to power three shuttle missions to Mars.


Moving on. We slab it all the way up to Sacramento we encounter the first of many cases where the GPS decides that logic makes no sense so we can just take some random route that takes us eventually to the same place we were going anyway. We stopped in to visit my sister-in-law who lives (I kid you not) a few minutes from the highway. The GPS (a Garmin btw) decides that a scenic trip through the, shall we say, less affluent part of town would give us a tad of variety to start the trip. Eventually, we made our way to our destination where we visited for a bit and then headed out. Before leaving, Stacy (my sister-in-law) was kind enough to give us the directions for a shortcut to get back on I-5 past some construction that had a section of it closed down. Unbeknownst to her, the city police dept had decided that we really didn't need to go that way and redirected us back into downtown Sacramento where we proceeded to circle like vultures on roadkill until we eventually stumbled our way back to I-5 and continued on our trek.


More fuel stops and more and more slab. The communicators help to kill the boredom. Not much worth seeing here. For those of you who have not ridden the area between Sac and Red Bluff, don't. It's God awful boring. It may be the worst stretch of slab with the exception of the entire state of Kansas (sorry to anyone uh fortunate enough to live in Kansas).


Up to this point, we have seen the occasional areas of charred brush but nothing too major. Many of you have seen the headlines of our recent trials by fire I am sure. Well, once extinguished, it doesn't look like much, but when we made our way to northern California, the smoke became evident. Even though the sun was still fairly high in the sky, we were able to gaze directly at it through the filter of haze provided by the numerous fires attempting to consume northern CA.


We continue on. Supper time finds us in Weed, CA. After fueling up the bikes, we find a local joint to grab a quick bite and try and move on to our goal of Crater Lake. To those of you following our saga, much of this will not be new. Brian has already given you a heads up. While sitting down and just about to start cutting into our prime rib special, another restaurant patron walks in uttering those words that you all dread, "I think some lady just backed into someone's motorcycle out front." I pretended not to hear and quickly sliced off a piece of beef. After all, it couldn't be me. I parked more than 4 ft behind the car nearest me. You'd have to be blind not to see my fire engine red 98 VFR sitting there, right? Well, now might be the time for Stevie Wonder to reapply for a driver's license because apparently CA is friendly to the handicapped when it comes to driving. Visual capability not necessary. Come one, come all. Yes, that's right. She did it. She backed into my bike. Now, accidents can happen. I understand that, but did she have to keep backing until my bike went over on the left (over the kickstand) and fell into Brian's bike? We are standing there and I'm going over the steps in my head. Okay, we have her insurance. Do we need the cops? We are trying to make it somewhere tonight. Is this good enough. Damn, I'm hungry.
Anyway, finish eating and move on down the road. We make our way out of CA and into OR. My first time ever in OR by the way. Yeah. By this time, my ass is numb, my wrist is numb, my back hurts, and my mind is numb. I don't realize we are in Oregon until later the rest stop when Brian says, "Didn't you see the 'Welcome to Oregon sign?'"

here's Brian taking a gander at a map at the rest stop(a rare occasion for GPS boy. I had to show him how to hold it and explain why it didn't talk)

"Nope" says I while I ponder the possibility of camping right here at the rest area. Did I mention I was tired? Anyway after a couple soft drinks and some debate about the feasibility of camping at any given place, we headed back out to the road. Ugh. After the GPS taking us on another tour of another unknown town before us finally noticing a sign to drag us into the KOA campground in Klamath Falls we roll in to take a look at the campground. To those of you who know me, this will come as no surprise, but here it is. I am a cheap bastard. This is day one of nine. Twenty-eight dollars for a mediocre (at best) campground in the middle-of-nowhere Falls sounds a bit excessive to me. My suggestion is to keep on keeping on. By this time we are in some weird zone where normal pain thresholds no longer exist so Brian easily agrees. We continue on thinking of heading to some campground near Fort Klamath. (For those not paying attention OR state law requires that anything south of crater lake near 97 or 197 include Klamath in the name, you can look it up). Somewhere in the Twilight Zone Brian notices a city park called Hegelstein Park and we think, "Why not." We roll in and prepare the campsite in about 10 minutes in pitch dark. Now, while the site appears quite scenic, the ambience leaves a little to be desired when the train goes by. Not to mention the continuous hum of the diesel engines cruising by to deliver whatever needs to be time delivered to northern OR atfter 11 pm. (read drugs) (<--- just a theory of course wink wink).
Brian hooks me up with a set of ear plugs, and that coupled with the hours of slab time suffice to send me to a state of oblivion unattainable by most mere mortals. I sleep like a babe wrapped in his favorite blanket.



Stay tuned for Chapter Two or 'Hey You're Taking The Display Eggs!'

 

Chapter 2 - You are taking my display eggs!

map of our route day 2



Ahh, the peaceful slumber that one can only achieve after a grueling day on the bike
gawking at countless trees, scenic vistas, passers-by and what have you. No sugar plums dancing in my head.

"I'll probably wake up sometime around sun-up as usual." I say the night before. But alas this was not to be. No this night I sleep like a newborn babe swaddled in blankets upon its mothers chest.

That is until I hear, "Crack of dawn, my ass." Ah, let me tell you it was a glorious awakening whereupon I decided I might have to make the rest of the journey alone because it might be too difficult for Brian to ride with his helmet placed where his head usually is. (sidenote: if you are having difficulty with figuring that last bit out, please post a public message so you can be ridiculed) (just kidding. don't be a pansy)
Those of you following our saga remember we camped out near Klamath Falls and waking up to roaring semi-trucks and somewhere in the neighborhood of 1.25 trillion bugs per square inch. In fact, I no longer wonder why there aren't many bugs where I live in CA cause I now know they have migrated up to OR and live there near Klamath Falls patiently waiting to display the Kamikaze like courage on Hwy 197 (or is it 97...like it even matters).


This is my first trip to Oregon and I mean to enjoy it. I have been told not to miss Crater Lake. It is a must see. Nothing like it anywhere. That's destination one. But first, coffee. Those of you who are coffee drinkers will understand. If you are not, then kiss my ass cause I haven't had my coffee yet and I don't have time to explain. Ok, camp is struck for the first of several times on this trip. About an hour after my most gentle "Crack of my ass" awakening, I'm sitting on my bike wondering if molasses courses through the veins of my most torpid companion. Apparently, I'm not the only one who needs coffee. I digress. We get back on the road and lazily glide along the road in the general direction of Crater Lake with the hope that some form of dining establishment will present itself along the way. Our requirements are not high. A sign with EAT painted on it in red will suffice as long as the door is open and the coffee is hot. Apparently the booming tourist industry that flocks to Crater Lake flocks from a different direction than we chose (or the way chosen by several proprieters of the now defunct restaurants along our path for that matter).

this would have been fine:



We wind our way up a scenic road through some towns that often look one step from desertion. Husks of buildings, cars forgotten and the like. The one absent thing...people. Not many people. Almost eerie. I chalk it up to being early, but it's really not that early. Anyway, we keep moving. Stop once for a quick look into a canyon and wave to the hippie love van at the little campground in the forest we recently entered and then keep moving. We make our way to the standard "Tourists are idiots and will buy this crap" store/restaurant that sits just before the Crater Lake pay kiosk and practically fall from our bikes and trip over each other trying to get inside to the first "OPEN" sign we have seen this morning. It has been over an hour and no coffee and no idea of when we'll have breakfast. I have already resorted to the hearty granola bars I threw in the bag at the last minute which hold me over for all of one minute per bar. I need grease! I'm from the south dammit!



All right! It's a breakfast buffet. We are quickly led to a booth and Brian promptly informs said host that tips will be commensurate to the promptness of coffee refills. Yeah, I think he actually said that word, but I'm quite sure he couldn't spell it. Lucky for us, our waiter was a foreign exchange student apparently studying English. Oh joy! In actuality he was very nice and his English was better than most of my siblings. (That's not much a complement if you have met my siblings on my mother's side). Anyway, we ran to the buffet that was indicated by our sever and promptly began making plates. Now, being the pragmatic person that I am, I see four plates with eggs of different styles covered in plastic wrap under the heat lamp next to bacon, sausage, etc. I pick the one that looks most agreeable to me, tear off the plastic and begin adding other breakfast essentials to my plate. Brian, being the proverbial lemming in this particular escipade follows suit and we begin working our way down the line.
"Eh, hem. Excuse me... Sir."
"Excuse me, " we hear again. (The sir part through us off as we were looking for someone more important than us.)
"Excuse me, but you are taking my display eggs."
Perhaps I should rekey that. "You are taking my display eggs."
Well, apparently in Oregon there is a big problem with people not know how to order egss so the think tank near Crater Lake came up with a brilliant solution, display eggs. That's right folks. You heard it here first. You don't have to say, "hmm, an omelet, what does that look like?" if you are dining at Crater Lake. No siree Bob. You just take a gander at the display eggs, then promptly call for the cook and point appropriately. Vocalization not even necessary although a grunt is never remiss. Now, I know what you are thinking (actually I don't but then again I don't know what I'm thinking half the time. I am a guy after all) why not stop me before I take the display eggs? Good question. My theory is that the cooks like to wait behind the kitchen door and take bets on who'll be the first person to take the display eggs and which ones they take. I don't know who bet on me, but I can tell you who lost. It was the larger than average slightly androgynous individual who mentioned something about taking the display eggs being "tacky". Me being the kind of guy I am, I try to keep the display eggs and eat them since the cook is gonna toss them anyway cause I ruined the plastic. Thank goodness Brian moves a little slower and those display eggs were snatched from his clutches before they could likewise be doomed to the ignominious end that my unfortunate eggs met.

Anyway, the rest of breakfast goes fairly smooth with the exception of pouring our own coffee as our coffee cups obviously were taken from a child's prize tea set and our waiter didn't get the tip comment from Brian. We chat a bit with Hans or Ruprect or whatever from wherever,then settle the tab, and then work our way through the junk store...uh, I mean gift shop. No must-haves for me. Regardless, we make it to Crater Lake Kiosk and Brian pays his fee while I snap a quick pic for posterity (ok, really for you guys to see the cute girl at the booth, but for posterity, too).


Then, after he heads out and I collect the miscellaneous items he's dropping along the road (gloves and what not) we make it to Crater Lake. What can I tell you about Crater Lake? Well, it is a big blue lake. That about sums it up. It is very beautiful. The water is very blue. Apparently that's what makes it famous. It's 5x6 miles so not huge. Avg depth of around 1100 ft so pretty darn deep.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8b/Crater_Lake_Pan_Giampaolo_20040717
_72_78.jpg/800px-Crater_Lake_Pan_Giampaolo_20040717_72_78.jpg

It is definitely something to see. It is one of those things I enjoyed seeing because now I have actually seen it with my own eyes. There is something to that for me. For me, many things do not fully exist until I have actually been there and experienced them personally.



Back to our illustrious travels. We head out from Crater Lake with the final destination of Brian's brother place in The Dalles, OR. The Dalles I have never heard of, but I looked at the map and it didn't seem too far given how far we had travelled the day before. The weather was nice and we were not really in any pain at this point. Our communicators were on the fritz so I could no longer hear Brian but he was still lucky enough to hear me occasionally at this point, I believe. We work our way back over to 97 and proceed north all the way to Bend where we take a break and try to find a working communications solution. Brian picks up some Midland radios for a decent price at a place called Joe's that apparently is a pretty big sport goods chain I have never even heard of. It was a neat place to look around and kill some time, though. I got a couple bungees to help the tent stay in place. WE do a quick parking lot test and the radios are a little scratchy but seem ok. Once on the road we realize these radios are unacceptable but both of us suffer from that afflication common to men whereby turning around is akin to driving a red hot poker into one's own groin. Therefore we determined the most logical course of action was to keep on going.

North, north and north we proceed. Eventually 97 splits off and we follow the more northerly 197 which will eventually take us to The Dalles. (Don't ask me about the name, I know it's weird. Try wikipedia.) 197 may be one of the most boring stretches of highway in the world. Okay, it's not really that bad, but it was the most boring on day 2. The noteable exception being the part where we worked our way down into a valley near Deschutes then crossed the river and back up the other side. That was a bright spot in a day about to get much dimmer.

After crossing the river and climbing out of the valley, the road gets long straight and boring. Very little to see. The kind of roads where you just think about what comes after and don't think about how bad they suck if you can help it. Of course, we are talking about just coming from Crater Lake so it is a difficult comparison for most scenic places to stack up to. Brian tucks in and stretches his 4g out a bit. I'm starting to wonder a little about fuel. I checked on the last sign, though and I should make it to The Dalles ok. I hang back for a while just taking it easy but then start thinking we are getting pretty close to town and I have no idea where his brother lives so I should probably close the gap a bit. I reel him in a little and see the first oncoming traffic we have seen in a little while. A group of 2 or 3 cars led by a maroon ford contour. I glance quickly and start to accelerate but something strikes me funny about the contour. Lights near the rear view. "What the hell?" I think to myself.... The lights come on.

Now, ladies and gentleman. Here is moral dilemma time. I glance down and I am proceeding faster than the suggested 55 mph. He is going the opposite direction. Brian is still well ahead of me. First instinct, run like hell. He doesn't know me from Adam. Unless he has one hell of a Contour, he's history. Radios are pretty fast, though. I ride up to Brian, pat my helmet and point back. He's already caught back up to us. Hmm, I think maybe he is slightly exceeding a safe rate of speed for a Contour. Well, we pull over and the rest, as they say, is history. Suffice it to say that courtesy and a friendly demeanor will get you nowhere with Wasco County's finest near Dufur, OR (pop 583, no 584, no 583...you get the picture).


12 miles. That's how far from The Dalles. 12 miles. Well, day one my bike gets backed into. Day two, we get our awards.

Finally at Brian's brother Scott's place



What's waiting in the wings for Day 3? Stay tuned to find out...

Next up Chapter 3 or I-5 The Washington Parking Lot

 

Chapter 3 - The I-5 Parking Lot

Chapter 3



Yawn…stretch…Time to find some coffee. Ah, coffee, nectar of the gods. Strange the way something as simple as hot water run through some crushed up beans can seem to affect one positively in the morning.



Brian’s brother was up early, as was I. Brian, contrary to the day before was not awake and moaning, snorting, and initiating his daily ritual of bodily functions as of yet. I had a few minutes to enjoy my coffee and read a few posts on VFRWorld. Interesting trip, this. Some of you are following along, I read. Good. It is what I had hoped.

After an hour or so, the old man starts to move around a bit. All right, so I helped out a little by gently stating, “Wake the hell up, lazy ass.” Anyway, after knowing him for more than a year, I know that if I have any intention of leaving to ride in the next 3 hours, to get him going now. It’s still in the a.m. and if you get him going early he moves much better throughout the day. (more like warm molasses as compared to cold molasses running uphill.)

The night before we had made a joint executive decision to beg off on the trip up through northern Washington with RW and some other riders as the miles were wearing on us a bit and trying to make a quick blast up to Olympia in the early a.m. was sounding less and less like something we ought to do. That gave us the leeway to plan a casual ride like a couple tourists west across Oregon to take in a few sights along the Columbia River gorge.

Columbia River Gorge Visitors Association

Today looks to be a nice relaxing day of riding, seeing sights, and meeting new people. Little did we know how much time we’d get to relax once we got to Washington.



After munching on some breakfast at a local Denny’s we saddled up and headed west on I-84. It was a partly cloudy day and looked a bit ominous especially north and west of where we were. Not a good omen for those riders that were heading out in Washington at the same time we were in Oregon. (see thread) The riding was typical for an interstate although again I must iterate that I find Oregon speed limits ridiculous and downright nonsensical. This is a common theme for me while I am in Oregon. I’m beginning to believe that my grandma was the pilot subject for traffic studies in Oregon, and it was on a day when she had snorted benadryl and drank some warm milk, but I digress…

The road was certainly adequate and moved us westward in a steady if not brisk fashion. As most of you know, though, interstate riding in general does nothing to quiet the inner turmoil that keeps the traveler traveling. This little stretch of highway is very pleasing to the eye if not the reflexes, though, and we enjoy watching the scenery until we find a place to pull off and ‘do the tourist thing’.



We take a stop at Bonneville Dam. The day is still cloudy but still no tears from the gods for us two. We snap a few pics but only pause for a few minutes here. Given more time, it would have been an interesting place to take the tour and see the big fish and such. I think Brian even shot a little video of the strange river crossing on Dam Road (hehe he said dam road) riding along railroad tracks and gazing up at a part of the dam towering above us. At times I was forced to remember to put my eyes on the road in front of me rather than perusing all the sights.



Shortly past the dam, we find our way to the historic Columbia river highway after only only minor incident where we thought our bikes should be allowed on the bike path and the cyclists in the pretty little spandex panties looked at us like we were about to step on baby ducks thought not. This road was the kind of thing you take these trips for. Were it not for the scads of tourists (like us), it would have been wonderful. As it was it was still very enjoyable and we took many pics like this shot from horsetail falls.



We skipped by many of the falls due to tourist clogging but I find that cruising by and glancing at sights from the saddle oft times is just as impressionable on me as stopping and listening to the incessant droning oohs and aahs from other gawkers like myself. Here is a shot from Crown Point up above the gorge where we put in a call to VFRshorty to give her an ETA on us making it to her area. We were also getting directions to a cycle shop to see about some communicators (another theme common to this trip). Don’t even get me started on Radio Shack!





After that, we made our way down to NE Corbett Hill Rd and then back to I-84 and on to Portland. I regret not snapping any pics while in Portland. I always enjoy riding my bike into a new city. Something about riding in with the tall buildings staring down at me always inspires a bit of awe for me. Again, the speed limits make as much sense as oiling your new tires to make them look shiny.

We work our way to the motorcycle dealership recommended by shorty and get further instructions to how to get to her place to meet up for a ride. Here is a pic on the way to her house where I stopped to brush my teeth again because I had eaten some beef jerky that my traveling companion, MacGuyver, had in the Pandora’s Box he kept atop his VFR for the journey. I still think there is a coffee maker option for that thing and he is gonna find and install it if he can just make his goal of going to every Radio Shack in North America (FYI he probably only has about 40 left to see). Brian is up ahead wondering, ‘Now why the hell did he stop?’



Anyway, we make our way to Scappoose (at least I think that was the name) and call shorty for an address for the GPS while Brian shops at, you guessed it, Radio Shack (39 to go). We work our way over there with only a little off-roading involved (gotta love GPS). It is always a thrill to actually meet someone face-to-face that you have exchanged witty banter with over our little virtual reality we have here.

She led us to johhnyb’s place where we met him and family and some pretty bulldogs and got a look at his pretty Buell. That bike looked like a ticket to jail for me. It was bright orange and looked like it spent time on one wheel or the other as often as both at the same time. It sounded good, too. Not as musical as a VFR to my ears, but mean and nasty sounding like it would slap your mama given the chance.

They rode two-up and kept us road-weary travelers working hard just to stay close enough not to get lost. The roads they took were nice, did not appear too heavily trafficked, and were quite fun. Given more time it would have been fun to ride with them more as I am quite sure they have a lot to offer but as Frost said,

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


They pointed us to a turn to take us across the bridge into Washington. We headed over taking us into Washington, my first time in over ten years visiting there, and the first time ever to the western part of the state. We make our way on over to I-5 where Brian and I split for a few minutes because he is following the GPS and I am following the map but he comes back to the way I turned and tells me we could have saved a few minutes by going the way he was going. (My faith in the GPS so far is still only average). At this point, it’s getting on in the afternoon so we plan on just slabbing our way up RW’s place to relax and eat supper and drink a brew. It’s around 150 miles or so and we are figuring on a decent average speed given that we will just ride the interstate most of the way. Little did we know about the long parking lot that extends from 25 miles give or take south of Olympia and extending on to infinity. Apparently, they call the an interstate, but Washingtonians know better and around 4 in the afternoon, they start parking their cars here to store them for the summer whilst they chat with each other on their cell phones and congratulate each other on having air conditioning whilst the crazy guys on bikes bleed sweat onto the road in the 80+ heat. After much deliberating about the legality of lane splitting in WA we decide to come up with what we felt was a suitable compromise. We would quickly change lanes between cars if they were not side by side allowing us to move at a brisk 5 mph. Well, when I say we, I mean me and after glancing back and realizing that said compromise doesn’t work so well traveling in a group, I pause behind a cage to regroup. While sitting there and pondering the lethal limit of sweating in my black leather, I note something of particular interest in my current predicament. There are bikes riding up behind me but on the shoulder. Well, Brian has found his way into said group and me being the natural follower that I am, I jump in. We ride the shoulder for a couple miles before finally finding another gap in the traffic and heading back into the fray. After a few more minutes dribbling sweat like an Arizona gardener in August we make our way to a gas station on the side to call RW and discuss the legality vs. the fines for various traffic activities in WA. Oh, if I had only remembered that Jay (RVFR) lived in Olympia and we were probably only a few minutes from his home (which more than likely contained a cold beverage that I would have enjoyed). But alas, such is life. I did not remember and did not call. Woe is me! (insert other woeful Old English type phrases here at your leisure pertinency not required if it sounds good.) We made our way back onto the parking lot and eventually (upon further reflection I expect that the ambient temp of Hades at this particular time was significantly less than 32 degrees Fahrenheit) we made our way to RW’s casa of mystery and mayhem.


Apparently there is a little known practice in WA of house numbering wherein the houses are numbered like this 1, 2, 3, 4, 11, 12, etc. Now this is fine if you are looking for those numbers. But, if you are looking for say 6 and house # 4 sits next to #11with no house between and it’s getting later in the eve, this numbering system can be a bit frustrating. Eventually, we stumble upon a sliver of pavement that might go somewhere and follow it wherein the numbering system gets really weird. We stay on it against better judgment and noticed a VFR parked in a garage across a little stretch of gravel. Hallelujah! We have made it. Let the drinking commence!

RW, knowing me from another trip we had made together last year, see thread, is of course prepared with beer in the fridge and I work my way to the kitchen and use my ever trusty nose to sniff out the barley pops. I waste no time in uncorking and polishing off a brew, then say “Hi”. He has most of his food prep done and starts in cooking whilst regaling us with his tales of torrential downpours on the ride we had decided to skip with him and the Canadians earlier that day. After a few minutes we stop him and say, “What is this rain of which you speak? We live in California and are not familiar with such terms.”



Meanwhile Mr. Julia Childs is whipping up his spec-EE-ALITY, a deep fried shrimp and oyster SAMMICH. (throw some extra lard on mine please, and have a cardiologist on standby). The first sandwich gets done and I pass it over to Brian who has started to gnaw on his finger by this point, while I politely ask if I can get my sandwich with no mayo and tomato if possible. Holy cow! You would think insulted his mother’s honor. (which by all accounts is impeccable in the brothel business (just kidding RW, don’t get your panties bunched)) Needless to say, once he calmed down, the tears stopped flowing and I acquiesced to extra mayo and tomato he was able to remove the pacifier and go back to his story. All joshing aside, the sandwich was very good the way he made it and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I was just in the habit of skipping mayo as a general practice and meant no insult to Helmann’s or anyone else making their livelihood from condiments in general. Excuse the faux pas.


We spend a bit of time boring each other with various stories and discussing possible outs on our various speeding awards for the past couple days. Totaled we are representing a donation of near 500 bucks to the various county and state agencies between the 3 of us in the past 2 days. After much deliberation and discussion about the festivities planned for tomorrow, I slither upstairs, into the bed, and dream of revving engines and railing curves around mountains tomorrow.

Thus concludes chapter 3 of our saga. Stay tuned for Chapter 4...

I’d like to take this opportunity to say Hi and Happy Birthday to one of my smaller readers out there. This is my niece, Tori.

She and her mother sit back at home in Missouri and read of my adventures. This chapter was written on your birthday, Tori! I hope it’s a good one, love, Uncle Brother.

 

Ah, the time is here... I have been working on this one for a couple days. There were a lot more pics than I remembered. I'll put a lot in the chapter but there are others left out I'm sure...

Come one, come all. Time to enter into Reggie's World. Grab your brew and sit down, this ride may take a while...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Chapter 4 - Journey


The sun breaks. RW is beating on the door saying, “It’s time to go boys before his feet touch the carpet.” I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen mewling for coffee. Thankfully RW already has it going and hands Brian and myself cups that once again I’m pretty sure were stolen from a child’s tea set. RW for those who don’t know is not a coffee drinker and as such has no idea of the capacity for coffee ingestion of the average coffee drinker. My being a nurse and adhering to my strict regimen of only drinking coffee and beer for my current Homer Simpson fitness plan has my drinking capacity nearing 20 cups a day give or take. Brian is probably somewhere right there, at least on this trip. Recall the café at Crater Lake where he usurped the urn from the foreign kid who was rolling napkins while were fiending for java.

gearing up at RWs


We skip breakfast as RVFR is patiently waiting for us at his house. By patiently I mean calling every 5th minute to see if we are rolling yet as he is ready to hit the mountains. He’s been waiting for this trip as long as I have and I can hear the eagerness in his voice as he gently welcomes us, “Hurry the hell up!”

following RW from Port Orchard over to Olympia



We head out from Port Orchard after gearing up a bit to shield us from the harsh Washington elements. It’s a bit foggy but RW reassures us that it’s shaping up to be a beautiful day. Apparently this fog is comparable to our marine layer down here that burns off daily to make for mighty fine weather.

On the way to Jay's


We head out to RVFRs place back in Olympia with only a slight detour by Brian for which I send the lady highway trooper back to search while we wait on the side of the highway for him. RW has forgotten the cardinal rule of leading riders, ride like you are in a group, not solo. (Don’t worry RW, I get in trouble for this rule constantly .) Anyway, Brian somehow finds us again and we continue on to Jay (RVFR)’s place. Hulk Jr is there decked out in his leather and ready to roll. We all brought do rags in honor of Jay so we could get a do rag pic. You tell the excitement is building for him as it is for us. We are starting to wake up and get excited for the day to come. This is the destination that started this journey for me two years ago.

bikes lined up at Jay's


It is difficult to gauge how a person met online will strike you when you actually meet. You have a general idea of how you think they are, but sometimes a ‘virtual’ personality seems different that an ‘actual’ personality. My idea of Jay’s personality was spot on. RW I had met a year earlier and on that journey it was immediately like we had known each other for a while. The feeling was the same with Jay. We visited for a few minutes while Jay helped me get my bar end reattached. After a few pics (which have been posted earlier), we headed out to meet another couple of guys just starting on their journeys who are going to share the road with us for a bit today.

we did a lot of this




Jay and RW will have to fill in on what roads we took to get started but we eventually make it to a little stop with fuel and a subway. By this time, I am ready to eat the southbound end of a northbound mule so I order up a sandwich and eat sitting there on a bench in the parking lot while Jay keeps Kodak in business. (or he would if we hadn’t already gone digital anyway. Hunger assuaged I’m ready to hit the road. The other guys we had picked up headed on out as they had a ways to go and knew that we were doing the tourist thing a bit today.

Picture of Jay doing the other thing he loves


After discussing which direction to go RW and RVFR take off and Brian and I follow. WE don’t know exactly where we went, but we do know we finally got to ride in some wonderful roads in WA. Up to this point, we had been mostly on the main highways and we were ready to scream obscenities into our helmets if we didn’t get to cut loose soon. Well, cut loose we did. We ran some sections of road crookeder than a politician and all the while having scenery that tried to pry your eyes off the path. And a few places that were likely to jar the teeth right out of your head if you didn’t keep your mouth shut. It was nice to finally get to cruise on some of the roads that Jay and Rick have been baiting us with for the last couple years. They are a couple of stand-up guys and fun to hang out with.

parked somewhere near a dam (I don't remember the name)


We stopped at a dam first and there are several pics already posted so I probably won’t put up any more. The views were pretty astonishing and the traffic was light once we got out of town. Before that, though, there was a lot of this.



They showed us Mt. St. Helens from the blasted side and from the good side. We ran some awesome roads and I even got my knee down for a bit on a nice sweeping left hander. Given a day or so to familiarize myself with the road, I could have quite a time up there. It’s too bad they are closed off for a good portion of the year due to this white stuff that they send us pictures of. I think they call it sow or snow or some such. It looks like the stuff we keep up at the ski resorts for when we get tired of riding and want to go snowboarding.



After blasting down a couple really great roads and letting the two aspiring DeMilles work on their videography, we stopped on a downhill section in a line as per suggestion of the Hulkster. After about 10 minutes of coaching, he got us all lined up for this shot:


While we were waiting for the shots from multiple angles, I started feeling the forest. Something about the quiet and those trees standing sentinel over our bikes while we scurried along underneath no more noticed by our sentinels than ants are by us. Upon remounting, I didn’t restart my bike. Instead I coasted down the hill hands free and listened to the song of the wind rushing through my helmet while I held my arms out and gazed into the sky. I know it sounds like a weird thing to do, but it felt right.



Reg on a ledge


Setting up for video


Creek where RW and I stopped for him to set up vid gear


Brian and RW joining Jay and myself at a scenic overlook


We had a blast and got lots of pics and saw even more that we were unable to photo. Our quartet bellowed a sixteen cylinder chorus to our mountainous spectators while we danced our own kind of ballet. At times we moved as if all our bikes were connected. It was like poetry on wheels.

We ended up taking a stop in a town called Cougar, I think, for fuel. Both the petro and the stomach needed a little something. We all got some form of caffeine in us to reawaken the savage beasts inside before the trip to our respective destinations. Brian and I had many miles left to go as we were heading along the Columbia River Gorge on the other side (the WA side) and then all the way to Stonehenge. We split off from the guys and headed back out on some of the super nice roads we had been riding.





By this time it was getting on into the afternoon and we just were relaxing and taking in the scenery rather than slicing the road up and scaring the passers by. We headed back on such and such road then south to catch Hwy 14 East along the Columbia River.

Here we are at the end of the road leaving the mountains getting ready to hug the river on hwy 14. Note the terrain change in the pictures from this morning to this evening. All the pictures are taken the same day in WA and some only minutes apart. I found it pretty interesting.



Tunnels


Hwy 14e


Reg on Hwy 14e


It was a very nice ride where we had rock on the left and tunnels right through said rock in several places and a beautiful river along our right. The windsurfers were out in full force trying to tame the winds on the river while dodging the tugboats. All the while you can see Mt. Hood in the background standing guard over northern Oregon. We’ll go visit him closer up later in this journey.





After quite some time we make it to an overlook where a very nice pedestrian stops and tells us some of the history of a little town called Wishram that is nestled in a little crook in the rocks below the overlook. She tells us there is a bar and grill and that the burgers aren’t bad. We decide to give it a shot after we visit Stonehenge. We bid her good day and keep moving as we are nearing the end of the day and many miles are under us with still a few to go.

On overlook near Wishram




Stonehenge in Washington was created as a veteran’s memorial according to the literature and is built to scale of the original. It is apparently made of concrete that has been textured to look like stone. It is pretty neat but we don’t hang out there long. I am quite sure that the original is much more awe-inspiring in this case, but the knockoff is at least easier to see at this point in our journey. If you asked me, “Should I go see it?” Well, that depends, if you are close then by all means, do. If you are planning a trip just to go see it, I’d say you’d be disappointed is my guess. It is interesting to see from the perspective as a monument to veterans, though.

Stonehenge





Now, back to Wishram. Not a moment too soon as we are getting a bit hungry. We make the left turn that will wind us down into the valley where the town rests while Brian keeps his eyes peeled for the ancient native writing on the rock walls as we cruise by. I notice it. It’s very interesting with strange symbols like and indecipherable messages like “Bobby loves Missy” in bright colors and with the previous target of Bobby’s affection X’d out and probably looking forlorn in some forgotten corner of the “quaint” little Wishram. Now I realize that people being people we define things differently. As such, I generally give people plenty of leeway. Well, there wasn’t enough leeway in my definition to make this town into quaint unless by quaint you mean it as in the movie “Deliverance”. We work our way down into the town where it gets darker presumably because the tall cliffs block the sun but more likely because the Gods no longer smile favorably on this forgotten pit of despair. There is an “authentic” old train that is the town’s other star attraction (besides the glyphs which we are still contemplating). Upon finding it caged up like Hannibal we decide that pictures of the bikes in front of barbed wire and chain link with our word that, indeed, there is a train behind all that would fall a little flat compared to the other snaps we have from today. Upon reflection, I think the road to Wishram should be spiral to mirror the downward spiral that your soul takes upon the journey into the town that time willingly forgot, abandoned, and unfortunately didn’t put a padlock on.



Anyway, we park our bike in front of the “bar and grill”. Apparently we are going to stick with loose definitions while in Wishram because it’s more of a cinderblock building built into a hole (literally) where all 10 residents congregate in the hopes that they get a chance to stare at people crazy enough to drift into town. Immediately upon shutting our bikes down, the Wishram official greeters (with a collective total of about 6 teeth among the 3 of them) came to welcome us. Those of you familiar with the speed talker that did the micro-machines commercials in the 80s can imagine the way these three were talking. “Nice bikes, how fast? Where ya from? What kinda bike is that? I rode a bike once. It went 180. Where you from? I like red. Who are you? What you doin here?” Now I’m not gonna say they had been partaking of any illegal type substances, but judging from their teeth, they most likely get carded every time they try to buy drano and sudafed. This was the first stop where Brian and I detached all our gear and carried it in with us whilst Heckyl, Jeckyl, and Jeckyl continued to magpie outside in the street. We entered the ‘bar’ whereupon dueling banjos began to play and spitoons rang out in stereo. “Oh hell, I thought.” These look like the type of people who think the theory of relativity refers to dating your cousin.


The bartender/waitress/cook comes over to us and informs us of our dining options while the other patrons cordially glare at us without so much as one word of hello. Eventually their respective conversations resume and we are able to slink away to a table which affords us a short distance to the door and a glance outside to near where the bikes are. We put our requests in and reflect on the days happenings. It has been a fun-filled day and if we survive this particular detour we will have quite the story to talk about. I believe Brian even mentioned to me, “I can’t wait to see what you write about this place.” If not, then consider it literary license (which, loosely defined since I am in the loosely defined mood right now, means I can make shit up if I feel like it makes the story better.)

We talk about the riding we had with RW and RVFR and wonder if they have made it home yet. The food comes and we eat. It’s ok, but hardly worth recommending to anyone unless you are looking for mediocre food at a mediocre price in a town you’ll most likely not want to visit. (If that’s you, that by golly you must stop and see beautiful Wishram, WA). We wolf it down and sprint for the bikes in an attempt to avoid the welcoming committee and make it back to The Dalles before dark. We bid our fond farewells to the town of lost souls at 80 mph with nary a glance back and hightail it towards The Dalles. I am able to get a decent pic of the sunset in WA just before crossing back over to OR where we will spend the next couple days.

Bridge back to OR


Farewell to WA


After getting over to OR, we decide to try and get a night pic with the dam all lit up behind the bikes. It works somewhat but most times a camera just can’t quite capture what the eyes can. Brian and I convene a meeting with our trip planning committee, namely him and me, and make an executive decision that tomorrow will be a day of leisure around The Dalles recuperating a bit before packing back up and heading west to find hwy 1and journey onward.

 

SLOVFR & Reg's Epic Journey Days 5 & 6

Day 5 of our trip…

Day 5 was a rest and recovery day from Brian and myself. We spent the day hanging around The Dalles and giving Brian a chance to visit with his brother a bit. We wondered about the town to enjoy all the sights and sounds that a prospering Oregonian community has to offer - dept stores, McDonalds, etc. There was even a bar or two that we may or may not have visited.

After hearing me gripe about my wrist for 2000 miles, Brian insisted I pony up the measly $15 for a cramp buster. I must say, it was more of an improvement that I thought. It actually helped quite a bit. There is a bit of a learning curve to these things, though, and I did pop a couple wheelies by bumping it. Ok, maybe the first two were accidental. The 20 or so to follow might have been more intentional.

The plan is to pack up and get an early start and make it to the coast for camp tomorrow. So far we haven’t camped near the big water yet. This ought to be fun. By early of course, we mean before noon.


Day 6 The Dalles to Yachats, OR



Believe it or not, it’s 8am and we are rolling out from The Dalles. Yep, that’s right, Brian is up before the crack of noon. Someone contact Ripley’s. He’s not talking much but at least we are on the road. We roll out of there and head down to cut by Dufur (and give the sheriff the finger) and head out towards Mt. Hood.

here's Brian up in front of me on Old Dufur Rd. Good riddance Dufur.


We had one slight detour but due to my superior navigational skills and innate sense of direction, we more or less found the road we were seeking. It helps having a gigantic mountain to aim at also. By my reckoning if we just keep heading toward the big pointy thing poking up outta the clouds we should be okay.

you can see mt. hood in the distance

as we get closer you can really see the mist up high


It’s a bit overcast and get’s chilly as we approach and get into the shadow of the mountain. We are in good spirits, though and just keep plugging along stopping for pictures whenever we feel like it and, in general, just enjoying the scenery and the fact that we are riding motorcycles in the shadow of the mountain while many of you are sitting in a cubical reading about where we are. Once we climb the mountain and start getting into the clouds it gets a bit misty. Our speed naturally is not too fast due to several factors: 1. We are still in OR and need no more awards, 2. We are not 100% confident in the road surface with the smattering of rain, 3. We just went by one of Oregon's finest in a new Dodge Charger near Government Camp that we are fairly certain could catch us on sketchy roads should we forget about #1 and #2.

This is out view on the other side of the mountain as we head towards Wilsonville


Anyway, we make our way down and eventually get to Fry’s in Wilsonville where we finally purchase the correct headset for the midland radios we have been trying to use all this time. We are able to determine that another one of the reason’s we have had so much trouble is that one of our radios has actually been malfunctioning. Hey, no one ever said we were tech geniuses (at least not when they were serious anyway). We visit another Radio Shack or two. I think I may have mentioned Brian’s goal of visiting every Radio Shack in the US. Well, you can scratch off another couple of them. I don’t think there are any in OR that he hasn’t seen anyway. If anyone knows of a new Radio Shack being built, could you please notify SLOVFR by e-mail so that he can make plans to promptly plan his next vacation around it and buy something he’ll briefly use then take back and argue with the salesperson about the return policy. Thank you. Anyway, back to the radios. After more radio testing and talking with the guy in Radio Shack we ask if there is a Joe’s nearby so Brian could exchange the faulty handset. Now I realize that I could have phrased this question possibly more specifically but anyway he tells us there isn’t anything close by but gives us directions on how to get there. We end up riding probably less than 10 miles and finding the place where after a lengthy discussion with the sales clerk Brian exchanges the radio and we begin testing et voila, we have comms again. It is nice to be able to chat again, and I know Brian has been missing my singing.
We work our way through some nice scenery still more or less abiding by Oregonians ridiculous changing notions of what the most appropriate speed is for this 50 yards of asphalt versus the next 50 yards.

SLOVFR and Reg71 with rockstar parking at Fry's


a covered bridge somewhere in OR


The weather is nice and we stop and see a few covered bridges here and there. I do not remember exactly where we were but in my notes it says we followed the Alsea River and then we made it to Waldsport. It’s a nice enough little town and we are back on the coast again. We stop and have some Chinese food and fill up our tanks and start looking for camping.



stop for Chinese food in Alsea


The first camp is full. Damn, it sounded really nice in the guidebook, too. Next we make our way to Tillicum Camp somewhere near Yachats, OR if I remember correctly. I start setting up camp while Brian heads up to the office to pay and buys us some firewood so we can warm up a little. It’s started to chill off quite a bit with the sun dipping below the horizon and us being near the water now. We had planned on just pitching the tent wherever we could find for free, but spots that looked good we getting harder to find and this place was only $20. After we got the fire going, we played cards for a bit and enjoyed a beverage and talked about our day. This was to be our last night in OR. We have seen quite a bit of beautiful scenery here, but I for one was getting eager to be back in Cali. By the way, I kicked Brian’s ass in cards in case you were wondering (I still have the score in my notebook).



Stay tuned for the long awaited conclusion to our epic journey.

 

Day 7 - Hello California!

Day 7 finds us awake at 8 am and ready to go. Our last night in Oregan is over and it's time to grab a bote to eat and get back home to Cali. We pack up our luxurious accommodations and partake of the lovely bathing facilities at the campground in the form of a sink bath. Pits and privates cleaned and nasty grill brushed, we begin our ritual search for java. We find it in the form of a quaint little cafe called 'The Drift Inn Cafe' quaintly enough. Did I mention it was quaint? Apparently the rain in Oregon is much worse than we had heard because the restaurant had umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. Either that, or the smoke detectors were very sensitive.



Brian was diggin on the petite, olive skinned server at the cafe and we swilled our coffee like pirates handle their rum. It was quite a tasty cup o'Joe and the atmosphere was very nice. First decent gravy I had had in a while out here in the west. I could taste the buttermilk in it.



From there, we climbed aboard our trusty steeds and headed south with our goal of making it to Cali today. It was a great day and we jabbered on the radios like a couple truckers on the long haul. Not too many stops, but at one stop I noted a railroad bridge way off in the distance that I though would make a nice pic. Now, I tried to find a way to get closer to it and saw a gravel road. Those of you who have ridden with me know that gravel doesn't really intimidate me even on a VFR. Hence my bike being named Scratch and me being familiar with falling. Gravity and I have been at war for a time now. Brian followed me down the road, then when I stopped for a photo, he lost his battle with gravity while trying to grab a foothold. Not too big a deal as you can see in the photos, Brian has been traveling with pontoons on the side just in case we should happen to go riding in the big blue.

that's right folks, drop your bike with me and the first thing you get is a picture.

here's the railroad bridge. (kind of a letdown after all that)


We actually only had a couple goals for the day and somehow managed to get sidetracked on them. We did manage to make one, and that was to get to California. Now, to those of you who may or may not be aware, just being in California does not mean you are close to home. For example, the shortest distance from Crescent City, CA (up near the top) down to San Diego, CA (down near MX) is 850 miles. Needless to say, it's a big state and we weren't going to make it home in one day. Not to mention we were taking the scenic route.

brian on an overlook near a lighthouse

a closeup of the lighthouse


I believe it was near here where we detoured to get a better look at the lighthouse and actually discovered a very interesting old bridge. We found out later that it had been designed as a nod to the aqueducts built by the Romans. Amusing enough as the other tourists headed up the hill to gawk at the lighthouse, we hung out under the bridge like a couple of trolls.





Looks like a great place for some stealth camping. (a phrase I coined for our journey since I think people charge you way too much just to plop a tent down for a few hours.



Unfortunately, we just got started or this spot would have been a great camp and it would have been easy to hide the bikes from passers by. This little creek is all that runs under that huge bridge.

We continue onward and finally end up in one of the 10000 campgrounds called 'Mill Creek Campground'. This one happens to be near Crescent City, CA. We had made goal one, but our secondary goal of finding Babe, the big blue ox would have to wait for tomorrow. We make camp a bit earlier than usual and it give us time to experience hot showers (quarter operated of course) and the company of some fellow motorcyclist heading in the opposite direction of us. They are riding a BMW and a Goldwing. those things look like barcaloungers after going over 2000 miles on our VFRs.

 

Day 8 - Lost Coast Highway

Oh Joy, it's 6 am and the rugrats at the camp next to ours have been up for at least 2 hours. God forbid we actually got some rest on this trip. Oh the joys of modern day camping in a campground. Oh well, at least there are the hot showers... Now where did I put those quarters?

If you'll recall from yesterday, I mentioned that we had a couple goals. Well, one of them was to make it to see Babe, the big blue ox. Well, we were pretty close but had decided to camp because we wouldn't be able to see it in the dark anyway. We roll on down the highway with my view being mostly Brian's 4th gen and lots and lots of tall trees.



We had a pleasant distraction at one point on hwy 101. Earlier in the trip we had wandered all around a field trying to get pictures of some wildlife but just didn't have any luck. Later, just cruising down the road, what do we see:



That's right, we just needed to go to this guys yard to see a wild elk. These elk are so wild that they wander up, ring the doorbell and ask you to throw more food out. Now that's wildlife right there. (speaking of wildlife the dirtybird is coming up later)

We continue on down 101 for a little ways and make it to this little place tucked in amongst all those big, big trees.
It seems like it'd take a man that big to cut these bad boys down.



I believe we had breakfast around there somewhere but for the life of me can't remember and didn't make a note of it. We did stop at a little gift shop where I picked up some strawberry syrup that the wife and kids enjoyed with pancakes after I got back. Now, back to the journey. We got on the cycles and headed down to Eureka. Now if you are one of my avid readers (either one of them) then you may remember my quote/unquote motorcycle trip where I went up to northern CA and met RW for the first time and we rode from Yreaka to Eureka and back. It was a great trip and we found a great little pub in Eureka called "Lost Coast Brewery".



But before we went there, of course Brian had to go here:

(37 to go)

During our nice meal at the restaurant, the subject of the "Loast Coast Highway" came up. This was the second time we had heard about it. The guys from the camp had mentioned it this morning also. They told us it was incredible and there wasn't much traffic, etc.

some old Victorians tucked away in a small town near the Loast Coast Highway



They mentioned the road surface wasn't great but it wasn't too bad. Now, let's examine this sentence for a minute road surface wasn't great. Okay, no big deal. I mean we have already picked Brian's bike up off the gravel, and they have told us that it's paved. We can manage right. Wasn't too bad, ahh, here's the light should have come on but it didn't. (Probably thanks to the recommendation coming prior to as opposed to after ingestion of our morning libation of coffee.)

one of the better patches of road surface


In retrospect I think I should be tankful that I had braces on my teeth at the time because through all the bone jarring potholes, ridges, and generally warped road surface, I didn't lose one tooth. I think perhaps my bike lost a few ounces in miscellaneous screws that vibrated off here and there. Needless to say we were hoping for some astounding views after suffering through all this.

beach near Loast Coast Highway


Granted this is a nice view, but I kid you not, it is NOT, definitely NOT worth the road surface you have to get there. Thinking back (it's been over a year now) I would say the stretch of highway(and I use the term loosely) to get there must have been somewhere near 1000-2000 light years long because time passed so slowly on that road as to go backward. At times, I was pretty sure I saw neanderthal man. Nevermind, it was just Brian. Now we had a decision to make. Go back the way we came, or continue on and hope for better. The stretch of road along the beach was literally a few miles then we were heading back in. Either we had missed the true Lost Coast Highway or someone had played one hell of a joke on us. Actually, it was the real lost coast (I looked it up). There's a reason it's lost. We continued on and finally found our way to the burg, Weott.

probably the best bridge heading back from Lost Coast Highway


The scenery of the redwoods on the other hand is something to be seen, and easily accessible by entirely serviceable roads. Though, at times crowded, it was definitely a relief to get back to places frequented a little more by people. Although, it is of note that the redwoods apparently are a pretty good breeding ground for mosquitoes. If you are going slow enough, you can read the name tags they wear on their studded leather collars.





those are some tall trees


here's where we came back into the redwoods


Once we got back to hwy 101, we were quite behind on our schedule and Norcalboy was waiting for us. We stopped for some fuel and food and gave him a call to see how much longer we had to go. I think we were in Garberville. Ugh, it was much farther than we thought. He gave us directions good enough that even we probably wouldn't screw it up. Unfortunately we had to bypass a great section of road to make it to his place or else we'd end up sleeping in a tent as opposed to a couch and hot showers in the morning. Needless to say, we skipped the twisty road in lieu of hot showers and cold beer. Another strike against the Lost Coast Highway (that bastard). Apparently, there was some kind of revival thing going on for hippies in Garberville or maybe it was Arcata. Regardless, we had been seeing lots of them carrying their assorted cardboard signs asking for rides and what not. You could practically smell patchouli and BO as you rode by.

here's what the lost coast highway will do you to you


and here's the treatment for it


After getting to Ron's we promptly started drinking and got cleaned up for the dirty bird. Come to find out the cleaning up was entirely unnecessary as even after riding all day, we wouldn't have been the dirtiest birdies at this fine establishment. Actually, we went and had a nice pizza before the bird and that establishment probably appreciated our respective bows to hygiene. We hung in as long as we could but that road from hell had really taken it out of us so Ron ferried us back to his crib where we typed a couple messages to VFRworld and promptly passed out in various positions between sitting and lying down on the couch.

 

Day 9 - The Norcal Posse

We wake up with our usual ritual cup(s) of coffee and get ready for a tough day at work. Oh, I mean riding. I almost forgot. I am in an odd mood this morning. Maybe feeling some trepidation if that is the right word. Most likely we will be home by the end of the day. I am not sure at this point how I feel about it. I miss everyone and I am eager to see them again, but I have thoroughly enjoyed our adventure. Shall we?
here's Ron taking us to meet SilverSurfer for breakfast

We have some nice twisty roads to take to get where we are going, but unfortunately it's the weekend and we aren't the only ones taking them. There are quite a few cars, and many, many travelers on another type of two wheeler. Apparently there was some kind of bike race and they were out in droves. Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy riding those kind of bikes, too. I just get frustrated when they are slowing me up on my motorcycle. Needless to say, we didn't break any land speed records, but we did enjoy some scenery.



We made our way to Pt Reyes Station to a popular breakfast joint. It was good food and good company and more java to keep us going. Silversurfer was there waiting and took us out for a great meal. We headed out from the on Hwy 1 stopping only once to snap a quick pic of the view then head on.



We kept on heading through the hills and twists on various back roads and highway 1 and eventually made our way to an overlook above San Francisco. We stopped, made various phone calls letting friends and family know where we had made it.



After hanging out on the overlook and deciding our routes back, we mounted up, continued on around the mountain road we were on and through the tunnel where we proceeded to gleefully rev or bikes much to the chagrin of the cars stuck in said tunnel with us. I'm sure were all giggling in our helmets because it was quite the cacophony. Once back on the 101 we started heading off in different directions. Norcalboy to the north, SilverSurfer to his secret lair in the bay area, and SLOVFR and myself back to the south.

SilverSurfer closer and NorcalBoy way ahead in the distance


Back to just our weary adventurers. Our headsets are buzzing as we skirt the bay and try to decide whether to continue on and take Hwy 1 through Big Sur or take 101S and cut off a couple hours of the journey but have less to look at. After much debate we decide to go for it and head straight on through Oakland continuin through San Jose and out to the coast then south on Hwy 1.

SLOVFR passing the stadium in Oakland


We ride on into the sun towards Santa Cruz and the traffic thickens like honey left in the cold. Normally this wouldn't affect us to much. We are in Cali and lane splitting is legal, but the cause for the slowing is that the lanes have cut down to one in each direction and it's a double yellow for much of the way. This is not my idea of fun. We were pushing it for time when we decided to take this route anyway, and it's starting to look like it may bite us in butt so to speak. But, it does keep moving...slowly and eventually we make it to Watsonville then on to Monterey and open roads with lots of curves, super scenery and great weather. A good combination in anyone's book. We didn't stop for too many pics after that because this is our stomping ground. Whilst this is some of the most scenic of our journey, it is still pretty familiar to us so instead we have fun playing hare and hound through the occasional traffic clump. Once to Fergusen Rd, we veer off and decide to make the trip even a bit longer. The fuel situation is getting a bit dismal as it is evening by now, and we are in the middle of a forest so we do what seems logical, we coast. We were tired anyway so shutting off the bikes and coasting down the mountainside gave us something to do and after listening to the engine droning on all day, it was a peaceful experience. Quite liberating actually. Of course we still had the radios, so lest either of us get too philosophical we'd burst across the airwaves with whatever ridiculous notions were scattering through our heads at the time. We kept going and made our way back to Paso Robles and my fuel light was blinking and SLOVFR was running pretty low, too. At this point we had to make a decision. Stop and fuel up, or risk it and go for the gold. We risked it, and before you go guessing that it didn't work out let me allay your fears. We made it home fine. We were dog tired but it had been so long since I had been home, and Terri and the kids knew we were coming, they had waited for us to eat dinner. We had some great Mexican food we are told, but since both of us were in a semi-comatose state, we just have to take their word for it. Two-thousand nine hundred and some odd miles...Aww hell, just call it 3000. Nine days, 3000 miles. Lots of smiles, laughs, and almost a few tears, AND a lifetime of stories.

Would I do it again? You're damn right I would. (I'd skip the Lost Coast, though)

Until next time...

 

well not really. I ride frequently, though. I think at that time I was also riding my bicycle a fair amount. In retrospect, I think the next day after a camp is the hard time to ride but having some goal for the day really helps. We stopped at least every couple hours if only for a minute to snap pics.

 

Just what I was shooting for after you read my whole story...boredom. Sheesh, Randy can you handle this one for me?

 

I'm not a member there, but it's ok with me if you'd like to post a link to this story.