Little_Horse

We had been discussing another trip pretty much since last years trip to northern California had ended. We rambled on about other incredible places we could try and see next year. The ideas flowed from Jasper Canada to Yellowstone, I even threw out the idea of finding our way to the Grand Canyon.

Life's difficulties finalized itself with my best friend Del. His wife had recently won her battle with cancer but the resulting medical bills drove them to bankruptcy. We rode a lot together during this time, Del found the road his refuge from the thoughts and stresses. This is how we became inseparable. The twisty roads stitching our friendship together. We enjoyed the unified rumble of our two hawks for many miles.
The result of the bankruptcy forced Del's hand into moving to Nampa Idaho. The distance and job changes made our trip ideas of grandeur disappear out of sight. My rides became lonely again, the things that I found amazing went unnoticed. The rumble was my own and it seemed less satisfying. I would call Del and we would still talk of a trip but life seemed to be still catching us. Our plans went from going for 5 days in August to 2 days in July. We had to settle at riding somewhere half way so we both could make it home on Sunday. Del had an interview he couldn't miss because after months in Idaho it was the first. Work has gotten busy for me and I didn't feel right to take a Monday off on short notice. If I had it would have been just me anyways.

We settle on going to Fossil Oregon two days before leaving. I called my dad to tell him he was invited. Being a school teacher his summers can be spent doing what he wants. This has become motorcycling for him. He has had a love affair with two wheels since high school, this is evidenced by the amount of bicycles that clutter the ceiling and floor of his garage. Last count was twenty-two, and there doesn't seem to be any intent to stop. He finds neglected bikes and can't seem to resist in bringing life back to them. He will spend hours polishing the neglect out, rebuilding them, packing the bearings with new grease. He then places them in his garage carefully as though they are in a museum. Some of their old glory has been returned, and as long as they take solace in my dad's garage they will be free from neglect again.
My dad purchased a Superhawk at the end of the riding season last year. It is red and new looking, and will probably stay looking that way for a while because of how carefully my dad takes care of it. He can't get enough of riding it so he left right away after my invite. Del decided on Thursday he would like to start out the trip with me from my home in Beaverton. His yellow hawk rumbled up to my shop Thursday afternoon. Del stepped off of his bike tired from 450 miles of riding stopping only for breakfast and gas. I haven't seen him since December his bear hug was all it took to be right back where our friendship had left off. You know you have a good friend when distance and time apart together can't muster to rip it apart.

My dad showed up later in the evening, we all sat together and had a laugh or two about the California trip last year. We finalized our plans for riding Friday afternoon. I had to at least work a half day and our departure time was one in the afternoon. I sent Del and my dad on errands Friday morning. They collected cigars an inflatable sleeping pad after breakfast. Said good morning to me at the shop and went back to my home to prep the motorcycles. They lubed the chains on all the bikes and adjusted them. They checked for loose fasteners and for anything else not right. I had to ignore my nearly bald rear tire in the hopes it would hold. There wasn’t much that would keep me from going on this trip. There was only a glimmer of tread on the center of the tire, that thought was all that would keep me from running some of the desert roads we would encounter later at higher speeds.

I got home and finished packing, I didn’t even go over the work Del had done on my bike. I trust him more than myself. I gently tug on the bungee cords holding my sleeping bag tent, and other large items to my rack. It is solid and satisfying. I place my tank bag and find the familiar place that I like it. I put my gear on, slipping my hands into my worn in gloves. We all exchange our glances of excitement that we are about to begin. Each superhawk churns to life one by one a symphony of steel and aluminum. I give the signal, drop it into first and we are off.

The first sixty miles are boring and familiar. We have to get out of Portland from the west side all the way to the east side. Traffic was thick but it was moving. I purposefully skipped downtown via a longer route that enabled us to see some extra country roads. The return trip for me wasn’t going to include this again. We headed as if to Estacada but instead shot north to Sandy where we were connecting to highway 26. Once on 26 we enjoyed the amazing views of Mount Hood. The only drawback is that on 26 thousands of copycat cagers head that way to relax in its beauty too, so the roads are crowded with distracted tourists and weekend warriors hauling 30 foot long fifth wheels. You find yourself gazing more at the fifteen vehicles slowly climbing the pass in front of you then at the scenery.

Fifty miles in we shoot north again via highway 35 this takes you around the eastside of Mt. Hood and away from the majority of the traffic. A couple of forestry roads later and we find ourselves floating down a deserted mountain road running downhill into the views of a barren desert. We leave the trees and shade heading out into the sand and brush. The heat is masked by the air flowing by us while we cruise at eighty. It isn’t until you stop that you see how hot it is, as your jacket begins to stick to your skin glued by your sweat.

Little_Horse

Originally I was just planning on making the trip work since I thought the desert areas would be straight and boring. I told myself it was going to be fine because of the company of my friend and dad, and it would have been. The road even though in a desert dipped and curved its way through the foothills, a mix of sweeping turns and tight twisties. It was the definition of serendipity for me, a pleasant and welcome surprise to the imagined flat straight rode of the night before. We meander our way into Maupin where we decide to gas up and to find dinner. We have covered 150 miles so far and our stomachs have begun to complain. We share nachos and burritos at the Rainbow Trout tavern, the food was good and brought renewed faith in small town food. After this we gas up at the only place in town. They only took cash and foolishly I didn’t count my change and was robbed of ten dollars. I guess a lesson learned for me the story of all our lives, one lesson to the next. Maupin is a tourist town, people arrive from all over two white water raft the Deshuets river. You can seen ten to fifeteen rafts on the bank waiting for their crew to board them. Red and gray, it looks like fun, “Maybe they can take us and our superhawks down stream.” I say as a joke. We climb our way out of Maupin on another twisty part of the road. The highway stays straight after this for a while until highway 218 where a sixty mile stretch of great pavement entertains the edges of our tires as it snakes gently and sometimes tightly out to Fossil. I couldn’t have been more wrong about the roads being boring. The scenery had variation too going between mountains and rivers. The road would often lend views that went for miles. You could look down the mountainside at the road below. My dad enjoyed watching Del and I below dancing our hawks around each unknown bend. I enjoyed the laughing inside my helmet as I waved to them above. I knew they were smiling like me the edges of my grin seeming to touch my helmet.

We stop for pictures and my face is sore from smiling, an old iron bridge crosses the John Day river. There are a few locals fishing while their children are laughing and playing in the river. We have left the city as evidenced by the lack of bars on my phone. It only gets more rural from here so I turn it off. I had promised my wife that I would calm her fears by frequent texting. I had not thought about towns of only one hundred still with just derelict looking phone booths and not a cell tower in sight. For me a little reality about the dangers out here, far away from help food and water, you need to trust those you are with to do what is right if things may go wrong.
Just outside of Fossil there are miles of wheat fields being blown by the wind. You can see each ripple as it waves through the hills. Fossil is also a small town and at six everything closes. We wanted to buy food for the evening, snacks to eat while we sit and watch the fire and puff on our cigars but we arrived too late. A couple on an evening walk tells us down the highway there is a place to camp, so we head that way. Ten miles later we find ourselves at “Bear Hollow” campground, which should have been called “Bear Empty” since we were the only ones there, in a fifty site park. We joke about being in the beginnings of a “Steven King” novel the stench of something dead in the first site we stopped at. We moved on to another site and set up camp, happy to see another couple roll into camp there too, it feels a little less creepy with them there. I talked to the couple to see if the next town has gas, but they didn’t know. They were friendly and had a black retriever who greeted me. Later we make the decision we would go back to Fossil in the morning to be sure we had gas, and to be sure we would have breakfast. Del and my dad have convinced me breakfast is the way to start a day. Usually I don’t eat until early lunch, but for them I find myself enjoying it.

The tents are up and Del and I had found firewood in the hills nearby. It is lit and we enjoy discussing the sights and sounds of the day while discussing how good our cigars are. We tease my dad about his riding, while encouraging him. A kind of tear down to build up thing as even though he is the oldest he has ridden for the least time. He laughs with us. The stars come out and you can see the Milky Way. Together we watch satellites fly by some of us not seeing what the others do. A few shooting stars later we climb into bed, greeted by a cold night and awakening to the light of an early day.

The next day we pack up and prepare to head east, this is all we have planned. We head west briefly for gas and food in Fossil. Then head east down highway 19 which runs along the John Day river all the way back to highway 26. There is a BMW convention in Redmond, and the roads we are on are being used by more motorcycles then cars, my left hand waving generously. Del and I keep saying “those Beemer guys are insane” as a joke because on the ride over he had been passed on 84 by a squadron of them cruising at 90. They are our brothers of the double wheel, I keep telling my dad they are the “gentlemen’s” bike which we was confirmed later in Mitchel when we talked road philosophy with the leader of the group. He found our excitement for 218 relevant. On the way home I think I passed him going the other way on it.

We decided to make a loop and camp just 30 miles east of the night before. We wanted to stay along the river which we did. The loop was only 150 miles or so, leaving us with a good portion of the day to swim and relax by the river. We are just outside of Spray there is only a tavern there to eat, but the food was good and we even played a few free rounds of pool laughing at our lacking skill. We will stick to riding I think. We stop at the local store, a place of everything. My dad talks with the owners about the matching Winchester pump 22 they have on their shelf. We confirmed that talking to locals is the way to go as they direct us to a good place to camp.

The second night was a repeat of the first, but we had snacks to eat this time. I found a hole in my leg and nibbled the evening away. Cigars and stars again, and because we had dropped two thousand feet of elevation the night air was comfortable not cold. The sun awoke us again, a bitter sweet declaration that our group was going to part. My dad was going to head back with me for a few miles before heading north towards Yakima. Del was going east versus me heading west. We had breakfast together, gave each other a man hug goodbye, and without many words left.
My dad and I enjoyed 218 together then parted ways. I gave him a hard time about not catching up with me on the last five mile straight. I think my emotions were curt because I already felt the space missing where Del’s yellow hawk would have been. I road home the same way alone. I covered miles quickly talked to no one eager to see my wife and little girl again. They are the only thing that I miss when I am out on these trips. My tire made it but I am going to park the bike until it is fixed.

There is something poetic about the roads and places we saw. Somehow two days brought a lot of fun and emotion and felt like it was longer, but in the end it still wasn’t enough. It was what it was and it left an indelible print on my mind. I will go again with Del and my dad, and soon hopefully.

Little_Horse

Little_Horse

Little_Horse

Little_Horse

Granola bar, mountain dew, half a cigar, and an r/r

8541Hawk

Sounds like a great trip..... If you ever make it a bit farther south, make sure you let us Bay Area folks know so we can show you around a bit.

Springbubba