day twenty-two: Hello Montana

Crossing into Montana- number 17!

Kootenai River

More Hwy 2 Vistas

Wild flowers

Coming out of the mountains

Mike and I woke ready to rock and roll after a great night’s sleep at the Bear Creek Inn in Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho.  We took Hwy 2 East and covered about 100+ miles heading toward Kalispell and Whitefish, Montana.  If you’re keeping count with us, this makes state number 17!  Yesterday at a rest stop a nice guy, named Vick, suggested we take another route with more twisting turns.  Hwy 2 to Whitefish caused my eyes no pain but after this small town, Hwy 2 turned absolutely beautiful.  I think I said this earlier, but my supply of superlatives has dwindled.  After you’ve described things you’ve seen as stunning, awe-inspiring, unique, pre-historic, etc. what else can be said.  I will say that this was my favorite road we’ve ridden.  Hwy 2 climbs its way across our most northern states all the way to the Great Lakes.  I won’t have the opportunity to see its many faces for that distance this trip but today’s portion was a treat.  We followed it past the Kootenai River, which, in itself was stunning in its power. I like to canoe and raft but I would think multiple times before voluntarily getting on this behemoth.  Our intention in following Hwy 2 was to enter Glacier Park and take the “Road that Leads to the Sun.”  (That’s actually its name!)  Or, as I like to call it, the “Road that Leads to the Avalanche.”  The locals told us that this road almost never opens before June 1^st and our proposed trip was not to be owing to this fact.  This year there was an avalanche, which blocked the road with snow and rocks and other debris.  Something I’ve finally put into words is that when you are riding a motorcycle it’s not only what you see, but the ride itself.  And for me, that still doesn’t completely describe the feeling.  I freely admit to being a little OCD (OK, a lot!) and I have a goal to reach on the ride.  I can’t be troubled with small avalanches and free-range cattle and tsunamis preventing me from getting to my appointed destination!

It was really interesting to me today that when we left the mountains, we did so abruptly.  One minute we were in them, we passed through a small town called Browning and we were onto the plains.  The plains themselves almost immediately changed to draws and coulees and small canyons (which is probably what a “draw” is).  Mike and saw some either wild or free-range horses beside the road and got some great pictures.  For Michael, this was not enough and having a dual sport bike he decided to convert to off-rode mode and give chase.  The stallion of the small herd took offense and briefly stood his ground.  When he decided to flee with the rest we decided to stop the chase lest we herd them into the road.  I have not experienced the difference but suppose that there is a great one between hitting a free-range chicken and a free-range horse.  Mike and I had planned to camp in Choteau, Montana but pushed on another 50 or so miles and are staying at a ratty Super 8 for the night.  Our plans tomorrow are to rise early and cover around 400 miles.  This we have done before but tomorrow includes about 120 miles in Yellowstone.  We’ll see how that goes and give you the report tomorrow evening.  Until then . . . adios muchacha/chos!

day twenty-one: on the road again

Mt. Ranier (14,700 ft.) from the Ferry at sea-level.

A view of the Seattle skyline from the auto-deck of the Ferry.

Eastern Washington flatlands...much different from the WA I've gotten used-to.

One of the many Idaho mountain lakes that we passed.

Hey guys and girls. Michael and woke early this morning ready to get back on the road after four great days with Mere and DP and a couple of days with Megan. I’m not certain but Megan seemed sadder to see me leave than Michael. I have that effect on people. We were not eager to leave our special people in Bremerton but we left early to bank some time against the need later on if we begin to run short. We boarded the ferry this morning at 9 AM. Mike and I noticed that the ferry made a strange but consistent rhythm which reminded us both of “River Dance.” We began to clog and jump and pirouette and pretty soon they had signed us up for Washington state ferry entertainment! By 9:50 we had disembarked the ferry and were moving through the streets of Seattle headed for Spokane. We rode through the day covering about 350 miles and ending up in our 16^th state, Idaho, and poised to blow into Montana sometime tomorrow morning. We were in what Louis L’Amour calls a “ground eating gait” today. Of course he was talking about a good horse and I’m talking about our motorcycles.

We came through some incredible contrasts today. We started the day at sea level and ended near Sandpoint, ID at @ 4500 ft. We started in what can almost be described as a rain forest with abundant water and greenery and transitioned to dryer and browner areas with little or no water and stands of sage, cedar and grass. In fact, you could say the first area needed drainage and the second, irrigation. This leads me to a comment I’ve been contemplating for the whole trip. I have found that, in the west, they are very loose about naming rivers. We passed rivers today (Snoqualmie, Cle Elum and Columbia) that were bank-full, rapid flowing, blasters. These are rivers! In other places (the worst was Texas but other states abused this as well) their rivers are potential. They could be called a seep, a spring, even a creek; but a river . . . my suggestion is that if you could throw your fishing line and cork in these “rivers” and the water flow is not sufficient to float the cork, you are not, in fact, a river and do not deserve the name. Maybe it’s just me.

The other thing I noticed today is that the roads we took were terrible. They were old concrete roads, which I generally love, but these were old and in disrepair. There were signs which said “Grooved road-motorcycle riders be especially careful,” and “rough road ahead’” and “abrupt drop off.” Their were also these three parallel grooves on both sides of the right lane, where car tires would usually ride, which were spaced about 8 feet apart. Presumably these were to let you know that you were still in the lane. I don’t know about you but I don’t require assistance to recognize that I’m on the road. When I’m off the road (and I have some experience here) there are branches whipping by my face and abrupt undulations in the ground covered by grass and other assorted debris. I am clear when I have reached “off-road” status. You may think I’m overreacting to the grooves and bad cracks and abrupt drop-offs I’ve detailed. In my defense, there were a few times, because of these hazards, that I thought I might get “jiggy” with the pavement. Maybe I’m a little whiny. Hey, those who know me best know that when I’m complaining, I’m feeling great!

Anyway, that’s my perception of the day. With you, I am interested in Michael’s perspective. See you next time.

day nineteen: a day on the town

Sluy's Bakery in Poulsbo


Can't remember the name of this bridge in Bremerton

Hanging out on the dock after dinner at The Boat Shed


Poulsbo harbor

If yesterday was “lay by” day, then today was “lay out” day. Not lay out in the sense of spending time in the sun working on tans, although that would have been possible even in the normally cool and cloudy Seattle area, but lay out in the sense of being worthless and knowing it! DP got up to go in and take a test around 4 AM. I got up to feed and walk Charley (I’ve been misspelling it all along . . . Oh no, spell check just told me I misspelled “misspell!”) around 7:30 AM and the rest of the crew slept in to recover from staying up late watching scenes from “Office.” At about 11:30 we all thought we might go have a bite to eat and Mere took us to Pip’s Bagels for some more health food. After eating here we went to Poulsbo. Poulsbo is a Scandinavian village from somewhere in the past that has retained some of its old fishing village allure while not totally succumbing to the god of tourism. Each time we visit Mere and DP we come here to look at the local book store which specializes in old books of pretty much whatever genre you like. Our crew seem always drawn to the older fiction. Today Michael old copies of Franny and Zoey and Catcher In the Rye by J.D. Salinger (I know, Salinger is not that old). I got a copy of Treasure Island and Robinhood. The kids asked if I were reliving my childhood but I explained that I always keep my eyes open for books to read to grandkids. I don’t have any yet but one can never plan too much! If I ever do have grandkids they’ll probably say to themselves, “Run before the old codger pulls out one of his books!” Steinbeck says, “I think today if we forbade our illiterate children to touch the wonderful things of our literature, perhaps they might steal them and find secret joy.” My method is one of beating it into them rather than forbidding them and taking a chance! I bought Mere a copy of Connecticut Yankee in Kings Arthur’s Court by Twain. I know none of this relates even peripherally to motorcycle riding but it is important to be literate and well-rounded as well as to be a motorcycle rider without equal. Please notice that I made no intimation about the relative level of my personal skill in that comment. Anyone who can fall off a motorcycle three times in less than ten days is a rider “without equal.” Having said that, you never know when you may strike up a conversation with some person only to find yourself in need of some great literary example. I, for one, do not want to appear to be an ignorant boob in addition to a below average bike rider!

It is now about 4:30 PM and we are all discussing the next place we would like to eat and the best time to do so. I’ll stop my rambling for today and resume tomorrow. Our plans now call for Michael and I to resume our travels Sunday morning. We’ll try to have this posted by then.

day eighteen:

Well howdy buckaroos and buckerettes and a fine welcome from the Pacific Northwest.  Today was a day without much going on- no particular riding scheduled.  It was the kind of day my granddad used to call “lay by” day.  I never was quite sure what that meant but it seemed to mean that you took care of chores you could only do when bigger ones weren’t pushing their way to the front.  It was definitely a farm term.  Maybe some of you know what it means and can explain the whole proposition to me.  In any event Mike and I rode a mere 86 miles, the distance to and from the BMW dealer in Fife, WA, to have our bikes serviced.  Changing the oil for each bike was $108.00.  In case I’m not being clear this means that the total for both bikes was $216.00- for an oil change!  Mike and I think we may have found our niche market.  Here’s how we imagine that our first commercial would go:  “Hello fellow motorcycle riders and enthusiasts.  Tired of being raped every time you have your oil changed?  Does it bother you that the average car’s oil can be changed for about $30.00 and your motorcycle costs over three times that amount?  The tools are the same, the expertise is the same and the car uses more oil.  Hmm . . . our suggestion, come to Mike and Alan’s motorcycle jiffy lube.  For $49.95 we’ll change your oil and check all your bike’s fluid levels.”  I don’t know how long that took.  It would have to be test marketed and timed and honed a bit before release, but we think we may have thought of something big!

After our return from Fife, Mike and I washed Mere’s Jetta and gave the two bikes a much needed cleaning.  They await a complete detail job when we reach South Carolina again but for now simply removing approximately 30-40 lbs of mangled bugs and other assorted debris from each bike should improve not only their appearance but their performance as well.

In a bit of good news the Navy finally saw reason and allowed us and our bikes on the base.  They decided that our SC motorcycle licenses constituted a proper “endorsement” and that our motorcycle safety course certificate was no longer necessary.  It was funny coming onto the base for the first time.  I rode up slowly expecting to be turned away, jailed or at least roughed up a little and all the officer said was that I’d have to remove my sunglasses and put on my gloves!  OK, so we want you to get sun in your eyes but not on your hands!  Whatever.  As Foghorn Leghorn says, “For’, I say fortunately, I keeps my gloves handy for just such an occasion!”

So, that’s pretty much the day.  As I write this, Mere and Mike are getting ready to leave to pick up Megan.  It’ll be a happy reunion all around!  Tomorrow we all plan to go to Poulsbo, a small town a few miles from Bremerton, to look at old books and get some “health food” at a favorite bakery.  I’ll let you know how all that goes tomorrow.

Also, the pictures at the top are a few more from yesterday.  We just snagged them from Mere's camera, and they were more interesting than the ones we took inside of the BMW dealership!

day seventeen: in the mean time

As I mentioned yesterday, Mike and I have taken a brief hiatus from daily travel.  Sitting still has given me a little time to contemplate some of the finer points of biker etiquette.  For instance, I have noticed that each rider seems to have a particular form of greeting, a sort of biker wave.  As riders pass in opposite directions it is altogether right and appropriate to give some fleeting sign of friendliness, a “you’re accepted into the fraternity” kind of gesture.  Some choose not to participate in this particular form of felicita-tion.  Their reasons are many.  Some are grumpy.  Some do not approve of your bike choice.  Some simply don’t care.  Those choosing to participate have numerous ways of showing it.  There is the barely lifted finger point.  I call this one the pickup truck steering wheel point.  It is not actually a wave since the hand, at no time, leaves the handgrip.  As such, this gesture fits in the category of brief signs of acknowledgement (BSOA’s).  While these are often gratifying to receive, they do not rise to the level of an officially sanctioned hand wave (OSHW).  OSHW’s come in an incredible number of varieties.  In fact, these are only limited by the communicant’s creativeness.  Here is a brief cataloging of a few I’ve witnessed on this trip.  There’s the one finger point.  The hand is lifted from the grip and pointed vaguely in your direction but not directly at you.  To this may be added a small chopping motion making it a one-fingered chopping point.  You may also receive a two-fingered plain or chopping point or the old sixties-esque peace sign.  The WWII generation will recognize this one as the old V for victory sign.  They are actually very similar when viewed as both cyclists pass at 60-70 mph.  You see how creativity enters into every situation.  Often, you can see signs of incredible spontaneity as a biker hits a pothole or slick area and instantly transforms a well-planned signal into one of amazing creativity.  My personal favorite this trip has been the one from a Harley rider who held his hand out palm down and made a squeezing motion as each successive biker passed him by, almost like a real person to person handshake.

 

One other quick point and we’re done.  Michael pointed out today an important distinction.  Under no circumstances does a motorcycle rider extend any of these ritualized forms of greeting to a moped.  That would just be wrong.  I’m sorry.

 

As you can see, it is possible that I’ve had a little too much time for contemplation as we spend a few days resting.  I’ll try and tone it down!  See you soon.

day sixteen: to DP & Mere's we go

Firstly, allow us to apologize for keeping yall hanging for two days—we’ve been unsuccessfully searching for wireless connections everywhere.  But we believe we’ve had a breakthrough.

 

Mike and I started out the day in Seaside, OR and ended it in Bremerton, WA.  That’s a quick summary of the day but the story is a little more involved than that.  We woke to a cool morning with fog in Oregon, gassed up and headed north once again.  We crossed the Columbia River at Astoria.  If you talk to someone from Washington state they’ll almost always describe the beauty of the area just before a “but” or “if only” as in, if only it didn’t rain so much.  So it was only fitting that as we crossed the final bridge into Washington, it began to rain.  Mike said that it was neat to see fog and rain closing your view of what was in front with nothing but the sea on either side of the bridge- water above, below and all around.  The rain was mainly misting but the only difference in a misting rain and a driving rain is speed.  Since we supplied the speed, it certainly seemed to be one of the driving variety.  Not that it mattered, when machines of steel are ridden by men of iron, rains of any type are immaterial.  (I hope you’re wearing your boots!)  Just before South Bend, one of Washington’s finest, in the form of the highway patrol, decided to escort us for a few miles to ensure strict adherence to the 55 mph speed limit.  This is something I’ve noticed in Washington- drivers have been well trained that if the limit is 55, you drive 53-55.  Coming from South Carolina where 55 generally means that 55-64 is OK, this was a hard adjustment.  Nonetheless, we thank the Washington highway patrol for their concern and practical demonstration of it.  Their effort on our behalf had the effect of slowing both us and everyone else down so we could have some very close time together and more fully appreciate the scenery.  We arrived at Bremerton to check in with Mere and DP and subsequently, the Navy.  We had almost completed the process when the Navy attendant asked for our motorcycle safety cards.  We had already provided SC driver’s licenses, proof of insurance and registration information.  Michael suggested his second grade picture, which he always keeps handy for just such an occasion but they were not amused.  The upshot of this was that Mere and DP had to call friends, the Stimmels, to allow us to park the bikes at their house until we could take them to have them serviced.  So, for the next two to three days Mike and are resting and planning and spending time with Mere, DP, Charlie (their Lab) and starting on Thursday, Megan, Mike’s girl.  We’ll be sending our reports from a short-term home base before pushing on Saturday.  Until next time . . .

day fifteen- Klamath, CA to Seaside, OR

Mike and woke from a good night’s sleep at the “Camper Corral” in Klamath, CA.  We had no camper, having slept in our North Face tent, and did not feel at all corralled.  After a meager breakfast of oatmeal and black coffee (that’s all we felt we could afford given the previous night’s massive calorie consumption) we set out up Hwy 101 again.  Today we covered just over 300 miles and sometime after lunch we stealthily passed the 5,000 mile mark for the trip.  There was no fanfare, no celebration, just that silent, confident feeling of being two studs on two bikes having covered a massive distance without fatigue or complaint.  (That may be a little bit of an exaggeration!)  Today we passed through no less than 40 towns, cities or villages.  That sounds like an exaggeration but is actually the truth.  Michael said that he liked all the travel and the variation of landscape and each town’s individual character.  I had enough of the traveling 65 mph and breaking down to 15mph (complete with radar signs to inform you that you are now going 17 mph) in some of the towns after about town number ten.  I know, that does seem a little whiny doesn’t it- so much for the “without fatigue or complaint.”  Michael likes to comment about our culinary excursions each day.  Today, in sort of a pre-emptive strike I wanted to comment on my favorite meal.  In the town of Coos Bay, OR we opened a can of “Chicken of the Sea” tuna and ate it out of the can with Saltine crackers and root beer.  Who-boy!  Now that’s health food!  Combine the meal with the ambiance of sitting outside a convenience store sitting leaning against the wall with our feet extended out over the curb.  It doesn’t get much better than that! Our lunch really was much better than the supper we paid for at a supposed local favorite.  Come to think of it, we saw no locals eating there.  That was probably a clue- one we failed to take.

Our destination for the day was Seaside, OR., where we arrived at 8:30 PM.  For me it was a long day.  Mike is a trooper- always ready to push on, to ride that next 10 miles.  Maybe I’m just getting old . . . . . nah!

On a couple of personal notes, thanks are due to two specific people.  Matt Tingle has given me a new and improved version of a run-on sentence with numerous prepositional phrases from yesterday.  If you want to see the better version see his comment from yesterday.  Bud Shevick, a brother from Mitchell Road, commented on my usage of the word “profuse” and cleared up a lot for me.  Read it and see what you think.

Tomorrow, Mike and I head up the coast for a relatively short ride to Bremerton, WA to see Meredith, D.P. and Charlie, their chocolate Labrador retriever I affectionately call Chee-Cha!  We’re looking forward to catching up with them and putting them out for a few days taking care of us!