Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Day 16 It was cool and cloudy when I stuck my head out of the tent. I had slept really well, probably something about cool, mountain air. Even though at the end of the day I would still be in Oregon, I needed to get on the road early. Riding the girth of the state on canyon back roads will be slow, and Oregon is a big place. PeterM was already at work when I called. "Nah you should be ok, I don't see any rain on the screen." "OK thanks." He's having all kinds of problems in preparing for his Colorado ride. "You'll work it out, and like we say, in the end play your hand." The fuel injection on the 1300 had it idling fast, breaking the silence of the still sleeping campground. I finished last minute checks of equipment and gear making sure I didn't forget anything, and no pockets were open. I don't usually forget items, but sometimes I lapse into where I put them. "Time to start another day of life on the road," as I pushed the gear level down, and wheeled out. Goose Lake Park has what I call a "transition" drive. Meaning you take a secondary road for a short distance before being thrust on the main highway. I love these short drives to start the day. I'm allowed to think about the ride and day ahead, and what adventure is out there waiting for me. Who will I meet? What scenery will captivate me? What road will test me? On this morning the transition ride was perfect. Just the right distance and feel. I slipped past a few quiet farmhouses, and peaceful fields, and when I came to the stop sign I checked all directions of the empty highway and turned north. I saw another deer running through a pasture on my left. "Those damn things are everywhere." I was especially nervous after a good friend was almost taken out near the Grand Canyon a few days ago. He was riding 2 up and the deer just ran into them. They didn't go down, but the bike was toast, lots of damage. In Lakeview I stopped at a con store to top off the tank for the long miles of the Outback. I knew from past experience there wasn't a thing between here and Riley, and there wasn't much in Riley to count on. Lakeview was still trying to wake up when I passed through, and nothing had changed from my last visit. The morning was cool and partly cloudy, and I had the AGV sport gloves on and a sweatshirt. I was a little cool, but still good. I left Lakeview behind and rolled the throttle, escaping a few low hanging cliffs on each side, till I broke out on the banks of Lake Albert. I was somewhat tempted to look for the map case I lost out here in 2003, but quickly put that thought aside as hopeless, and not worth the trouble. The curves were gentle sweepers while the roadway brushed against the water. They began to dwindle like the lake in the mirrors after a few miles, and were gone altogether when 395 turned arrow straight when it shot me north through the blankness. This is high desert country, little rain, hot summers, and cold winters. No bush was in sight taller than the Honda. The highway so straight if you fired a rifle down the road, a mile or so north you'd find the spent slug. Not a car or other object could be seen.
The Loneliness of the Long Distance Rider, the slightly altered title of a long ago book, that used runner instead rider. I never read the book, because I hear it has very little to do with running. But the title has a air of mystery, and conjures images of a solitary guy, alone with his spirit, doing what he loves, and not really carrying if anyone else understood him or not. Kind of how I felt on this day. An 18 wheeler, perhaps 2 miles in front of me when I first saw him, took to the side when he saw how quickly I was closing down on him. I'm sure he saw my PIAA lights in his mirrors even further. He must of thought I was a cop. He just rolled up, kind of like a dog that goes to his back and exposes his tummy to his master to show submission. I shot by, and he came back on the road. The same lady was at the store in Riley as in 2003, but she did not remember me, in fact we had no conversation at all this time. I bought a drink and sat outside and enjoyed my sandwich. My feelings were not hurt at first, but then I thought, "Well dang, how many long riders stop in here she can't remember ME?" I was hoping to have made a more lasting impression, but I guess not. It was a good break, but time to get back on the road. U.S. 20 and 395 briefly join before 395 breaks off north for Burns. I stayed on 395, and while coming through Burns spotted a Kawasaki dealer. "I bet those jokers have Plexus." I parked on the street and went in, and could see I had made a mistake. This was a Kawasaki dealer, but looked to only carry ATVs and personal watercraft. They did not have what I was looking for, but did sell me the Kawasaki equivalent. I was kind of desperate and because I was stopped anyway said, "What the heck, I'll take it." I used it in the parking lot and the stuff worked pretty well. A little more watery than Plexus, but effective. U.S. 395 kept taking me north, and the 1300 loved it. I brought the screen up for a little quiet, and squirmed till I was comfortable. In land so open, 90 mph does not feel fast. There are no reference points, no trees whirling by, no liked minded traffic to quickly close down on, and the high tech motor, and wind protection of a bike such as the ST 1300 removes even more sensation. All I had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride. Clouds hung low near the mountains, and the temps were cool in the canyons. I have no rhyme or reason for my thoughts on a ride such as this. I went back to my time as a coach, it was this time of year we were preparing for all star tournaments, and a ride such as this was not something I thought about. Almost all my free time was a field or gym. I asked myself if I'd want to do it again with a grandson. " Depends, on what's going on at the time." The left side of me said, "well Chris came out ok, no telling how good the second could be, you'd know what worked and what didn't" And my right responded, "yeah those were fun times, just dunno if I'd want to make that commitment, grandkids are for fun. but I won't rule it out." A long, long left hand curve swung me around the jutting side of a canyon, and when the road straightened out a cluster of buildings called Seneca came into focus. I throttled down when I came by, and took a street in the village that looked interesting. Something called me to take a closer look at this speck on the map, to come down from my perch of Long Riding to view it with caring eyes. I've traveled the vast reaches of this continent, but I don't ever recall a town such as this. Only guessing, but I'd say 100 people lived here? The street took me past the school, which was now out for the summer. A high fence circled the playground, and two dogs sniffed the perimeter. I half expected to see a man with a metal detector searching the grounds, but as poor as this town looked, he'd be wasting his time. No child of Seneca had extra coins in their pocket. The streets were gridiron fashion, running north-south or east-west, about 6 blocks each way. The hamlet was a mixture of old houses, and garages, with a few mobile homes thrown in for good measure. Trashed RVs and junked cars were in backyards. Every car a citizen ever owned was still visible in this town. Nobody junked or sold anything. Empty lots with high weeds, spaced things out. The houses were made of wood, or some kind of shingle, all needed painting. I crawled the Honda up and down the streets at 10 mph so I could have a good look around. In the center of things was one store and the obligatory tavern. Most places with long winters have at least one such place. Men needed them to gather in the long dark days of winter to wait for the sun to return and the snow to melt.
What a sad looking spot this was. I could not imagine spending one hour here, never mind a lifetime, but I'm sure a few have/are and think nothing about it. A man watched from his front door as I made a U turn to go back the other way. No doubt asking himself just what in the world I was doing here. Prattville is a fair sized city, what would Debbie and I do here? I asked. No Applebee's to go to every Thursday night for supper, no Wal Mart, no movies, no video stores, or places to get your nails done, con stores by the hundreds, and any kind of doctor you might need. NONE of that, what you have, is what you get. "Yeah, you'd have none of that, but plenty of room to run unimpeded and to cycle safely." But even that thought was little consolation. I was heading back to the school when I saw 2 guys leaning on a car. One was young early 20s, the other not sure, 50? Maybe 40 something but a hard life made him look beyond his years. I turned the key on the Honda. "So this is IT??" They laughed out loud and said, "YEP. Are ya lost?" "No, just curious." "About what?" the older man asked. I set the stand down, but remained on the seat and said, "just to find out about y'all out here in the middle of nowhere, and what life is like." " I can tell ya this, life is hard, but do the best we can. I make cabinets for a living, but as you can see, not many new houses are being built around here." "Well, what about folks remodeling?" That remark brought about a big round of laughter. The younger guy said, "man what are YOU smoking? Nobody here gives a rats ass, about what kind of cabinet to put plastic cups in." I asked, "and y'all are?" "I'm Mac and he's Charlie Boy." The names fit the bodies.
"I saw ya when you came by the school a minute ago. I told Mac, some guy on a fancy blue motorcycle, and a race helmet just came in off the highway. He said I was lyin." He looked to his partner. "See was tellin the truth." "Yeah, for the first time in your life." Our conversation continued on about the long winters here, and other things. Then Mac asked out of the blue. "And what about YOU? What's YOUR story?" "Don't really have one, I was just passing through and was curious, like I said." "Where ya from?" "Alabama." He blurted back, "ALABAMA! That's another country ain't it?" And started laughing. "Well, only in comparison." I took no offense at the comment, because in some ways it is. "Well, bros I better get goin, good to meet ya." "Likewise, have a safe trip." I went back past the school, and returned to 395. It was still cool on the ride into John Day, the sun came and went as the clouds past in front of it. I still had Seneca on my mind when I hit the city and found the "Grub Mining Company and Steakhouse" in the business district. I backed the 1300 to the curb and went in, bringing my gear, including the "race helmet." A young blue eyed, red haired waitress came for my order. " How ya doin?" "Baby, compared to the folks in Seneca, I hit life's lottery." "Ohhhh, I seen you've been there. I don't trust those kind yanno." "Really?" (matter of fact tone) "Yeah you don't know what they might do." "I'll remember that next time I pass through there. But you always know what they're gonna do in John Day huh baby?" She blushed and said, "you know what I mean. And where are YOU from with that accent?" "That other country, you know the one." "Uh uh, you're from somewhere down south. Now tell me." "ALABAMA!" I never knew there was so much free entertainment in East Oregon. Lunch was a chicken sandwich and soup. When I finished I put some notes in the Axim and while doing so, a 60ish lady on the way out stopped and said, "ain't you kinda old for video games?" "Well m'am, this is my computer, I'm puttin in some notes for work before I forget." No way was I gonna tell her I was retired and had a Playstation 2 at home with hundreds of video games that I played everyday. I have to have some pride. The 2 guys in the booth behind me spent most of the meal bagging on their ex wives. Surprisingly, I had no cell signal, "I'll just have to pick up messages later." Before leaving Day, I stopped at a Chevron station to top off the tank. I wanted to do another hundred miles or so before stopping again, so topped off. I exited the city on U.S. 26 East and after a short valley ride was rising up in elevation. So much beautiful country out west, I never tire of touring it. From U.S. 26 I went to SR 7, and began to see images of the Oregon Trail. The entire area was rich in pioneer history, and often I would stop to read the markers about what happened here, or what a nearby landmark meant. Once I was riding up a steep incline that overlooked a large valley. You really could see for miles and miles up there. In the middle of the valley a large tree stood, the only landmark of note you could see. Indians used it guide themselves around the mountains and valley, and pioneers hailed it as a focal point. The tree was very old, and would still be there today, but some joker cut it down in the late 1800s for the hell of it. Man, didn't anybody see him out there chopping away and stop him? I was kind of pissed about that because I wanted to see it too.
The ride west of Baker City was very good and I enjoyed it. Nice mountains and landscapes, and a good road with plenty of curves.
West out of Baker I went to SR 86. Like so many roads, the highway flowed along with the Powder River through the high canyons. I was now on my way to Hells Canyon and the Snake River. I got stuck behind a white RV and wasn't able to lean the best part of the ride. I was tempted to go back and take another swipe at it, but decided not to. I had already leaned a 1000 times today, what difference is 25 more going to make? Thankfully, and old fashioned trading post store with a front bench was in Richland so I stopped for a muffin and Tootsie roll. I rested my butt, put notes in the Axim, and checked pictures. I had to skip messages, still no signal.
SR 86 went up so high near Halfway I thought my nose would start bleeding. Deadly drop offs plunged hundreds of feet straight down were on my right. I threaded the loaded Honda along carefully, trying to stay focused, and when I was able I took a look at the awesome scenery. Now I know why they call the area Hells Canyon. The place is about as rugged as you can get, and no easy way to get here.
My plan for today is to overnight in the Joseph area, I hadn't made up my mind to camp, or motel it, I'd make that call when the time came. According the atlas, a road connected Joseph with 86 near Oxbow. The highway in question is paved, and marked as a state route.
It was late afternoon, with clouds gathering in 3 directions, the temp was in the high 60s. In fact it never went beyond 71 according to my notes. I was coming down out of the mountains from Halfway, when I passed a sign "<------Joseph 65 miles." I slowed, took a look and, "Nah that can't be right, I'm lookin for a state route, that ain't nuttin but a loggers road." I sped up and kept going, and soon found myself crossing a bridge into Idaho. "Well heck, sumptin ain't right, I KNOW I ain't suppose to be in Idaho because I'm suppose to heading to Joseph." I turned around, went back across the bridge and stopped in a church parking lot, and pulled out the atlas. "Oh man, THAT was/is the road to Joseph." I checked other options. The country is rugged and primitive, they were limited. A series of high mountain peaks separated me from my needed ending point. I wanted to spend the next 2 days riding the Palouse, Idaho, and then into Montana by way of Lolo Pass, to do that I had to set it up today. I could skip the road, and take the long way around; I-84 to SR 82, add at least 200 miles and 4 maybe 5 hours, and a significant ride in the dark in deer country. Not doing that. Option 2- spend the night here, several campgrounds close by, but none looked good, and the weather had a chance of going sour. It was definitely raining in the mountains, and a Long Rider just doesn't know if the system will make it out of the peaks. Mountains can do crazy things with storms. Don't want to, but won't rule it out. Option 3- take the road to Joseph. "Maybe it's not all that bad. At least check it out then make the call." That is what I did. I went back to the road in question and turned on it, riding a half mile then halting. I now had a good view of the swirling clouds on the peaks ahead. The last 5 years I've ridden thousands of miles in the Rocky Mountains, many different ranges, and I guessed the first to be at least 9,000 feet. Plenty high enough for high wind, fog, and steep drops. That did not bother me as much as the road itself. It was narrow and wet from a recent rain. It had holes the size of car tires, no shoulders or guardrails, and NO painted lines to follow in case it went foggy, and judging by the clouds, I'm sure somewhere up there it was. I factored how much daylight I had left- 3 hours of good light, and 1 marginal. "Well, ya got a dangerous unmarked road, filled with bumps, slippery, rain and fog for sure, hundreds of tight blind curves, long drop offs if ya miss, help hours away if at all, and it might even be a little cold up there." There are dangerous things, and then challenges. I'm not going to do anything dangerous. Too smart, with too many people that love me back home. I live up to my promise to always be careful. But a challenge now and then is good, because without them, you go through life bored, thinking coulda shoulda woulda. I didn't have anyone on my back, that bothered me. None of the brothers I have come to know so well could help me right now, but would give anything if they could. The Brits know how important it is to have someone's back, and I brought that home with me. "Well if I'm gonna do this, gonna stack the deck a little in MY favor, Debbie would want me to." Not a soul knew where I was specifically. If I went off the side of a cliff, broke my leg, it would be at least 24 hours before Debbie sensed it. She would not grow concerned till then. She knows I'm in remote areas, and may dismiss it to no signal. That whole scenario grows ugly quickly, "no I'm gonna cover that base." I circled around and went back to the small trading post I passed on SR 86, I went inside taking my gloves off- " where's ya phone?" "Here ya go." As the clerk handed me a cordless phone, "Book please, I need the sheriff's office non emergency number." He handed it over. "Thanks." "Hello Wallowa County Sheriff Office, do you have an emergency" "No m'am" "Name Please" "Guy Boutin" "How can I help you." I told her where I was, and what I was about to do. She said she saw the road on the map. "Look, I don't know a thing about the road, and I'm on 2 wheels, and the weather is really nasty in those mountains. If you don't hear anything from me in 4 hours will you send a unit up there to check on me? I'll be on a blue motorcycle, blue riding gear, and real bright lights, I'll be easy to spot if everything is ok." "Sure, I'll also notify the Forest Service, they do most of the work in that area." "Thanks, and here's my cell number. You have my present location on caller ID?" "Yes." I'll leave a few other details about me with him, in case you need them. I won't be going fast enough to get hurt, I just fear going over the side and not being able to get back up." I asked the clerk to come outside to check my bike so he had a description. "Thanks mister, I'll be fine, but just in case." "No kidding, we often lose people and cars up there on a GOOD day, found days later." "Now that's a confidence booster." Time to get started, I made the short ride back to the turnoff, reset trip meter B to 000 so I always knew how far I had to go, and got started. The road was wet, bumpy and quickly grew treacherous. My speed hovered around 20 mph and I skipped around holes and frost heaves. Winters are cruel to the roads here and this one has seen more than a few. After a long incline, the road began to corkscrew up. It started to rain and the temp was dropping. An air temp gauge on a touring bike gives vital info. It can tell you a lot of things, like how quickly you are rising, and a ballpark figure on elevation. The surrounding forest was thick, this is some of the most isolated land in the country. I went by a federal campground but it was empty. I held the 1300 in 3rd gear. Up, up, I went, I could see the mountains across the small valley, but not a clue at how far the drop is.
I was yet to see a single car in either direction. I went over the summit of the first mountain, and started dropping, the rain let up a little. This is truly God's Country. I've never felt more alive. My senses were heightened to that of a mountain lion. I was confident I was going to do this, and do it well. I called back to all my experience as a Long Rider. From battling fog in the Blue Ridge, rain in the Bighorns, snow in Scotland, and a thousand roads. A tight left hand curve exposed a deer strolling down the road, I was the first vehicle he'd probably seen in hours. I waited for him to lazily step off and jump in the woods. By now I was at 20 miles and looked up at peak 2. Clouds packed around it, but it did not deter me. It started raining hard as I moved up the approaches. I was uphill under load, and I let the rpms drop too low even for a 1300, and swiftly shoved it into 2nd to get back up. The road disappeared into a fog bank just ahead. I mean it was like you pulled a curtain across. I went in and thought this could last a mile, maybe more, depending on when the downhill started. Visibility was down to just a few feet. I went to 2nd and slowed to a walk. "You have to be patient, doesn't matter how long it takes, just keep moving, and follow the road however far you can see it" It was really cold now, the temp had dropped to 38. Temp gauge began to rise, 39. 41, 44. I was moving down! The fog lightened and I broke out at mile 23. Now a gusty wind began to howl through the passes. It raked the 1300 and pushed me around but nothing scary, it was just cold. The weather began to improve, and I could see wisps of clouds blowing across the distant slopes. This ride on a good day might even be fun, but today it was a test. I found the closest thing I could to a turnout at mile 33, just as the road took a sharp left bend. I took in my surroundings. "I deserved to be here," I thought. "I earned this view."
"If I could just get to 40, the rest will be easy," I was thinking that as I kept the 1300 true to the road. By the time I got to the last peak I was tired, so I was glad there was no rain, or wind to deal with. A little fog and cold temps, and then the long run out downhill. The road begin to straighten and my speed picked up, according to trip meter I had 15 miles to go. That didn't matter, I was leaving the mountains and on the way home according to plan. Temp gauge now read 53 degrees. In the distance I could see a LEO approaching in a SUV, as we drew near, a hand stuck out and we stopped. No traffic anywhere, so that was not a problem. The window came down exposing a middle aged deputy. He reminded me of a old cowboy from a hundred western movies. "You OK?" Yeah, doing ok, thanks for checkin. It was nasty up there, some tough miles." "The dispatcher told me you were up here, so I thought I'd come over and see, I wasn't that far away. You got it made now, just a few more miles to town." "Will you tell her I made it ok, and thanks again. Always good to know someone has your back." "Have a good ride, and lift one for me." Feeling good I sped off. On this side of the mountains the sun was back out and skies were partly cloudy. It was late afternoon and dark was coming on. I took a farm road and looked back at the mountains I'd just left. Clouds still stuck to them, as they hung around waiting to test the next guy. I smiled back at them, bleeped the throttle, came back around, and took of for Joseph.
The old pioneer town, looked younger than her years. I came down Main Street on advance recon for supper at the same time looking for a motel. I found the Indian Lodge and checked in after a 502 mile day. One of the most memorable I'd ever done. My 40 dollar a night room was just a few doors down from the lobby. Ground floor, so unpacking went quickly. Several other bikes were in the parking lot, with local tags. I used the new KawaChem cleaner on the screen and fairing, and when I was satisfied, went in for a shower. A short walk later I was at the nearby Stubborn Mule Steakhouse where I had grilled chicken and a baked potato. I called Debbie. "I want you to come home. I miss you." "ok baby I'm on the way. Everything ok?" "Yeah, just start working your way home, I want you here by the 4th." "sure baby, but you do realize I'm in Oregon and it will take several days" "I know, but just knowing you are on the way makes me feel better" She does not ask for much, but when she does, I comply. I put a lot of notes in the Axim because so much had happened on this day. I went back to the room and got out the atlas to see what I needed to do. I can still carry out most of my planned ride and be home by the 4th. I decided to cut the ride to the Palouse, the extra day in Montana, and the Mississippi Headwaters site. Three days right there, home on July 3rd. I'll be able to accomplish 90% what I set out to do, and what I didn't get in, always other tours.
Main thing, I don't have to take the interstate home. Watched a little tv, hit the lights, and slept like a log. Next: outstanding riding in Washington, Idaho, Montana and Lolo Pass Road.
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