June tour of the Northwest 2008

[Rubba]

Plans for my summer trip were inspired by news of the next ZRXOA International Rally. The thought of putting new faces with screen names and the opportunity to discuss bikes and rides with my extended other family rocked. A rally group ride would frost my cake and who would deny the fun of a repeat serving of Southern Utah roads on the way home. With my appetite whetted the intent spawned.

Ultimate flake-out took root in May when I tweaked the plan to include a loop into Canada. Circling that far north, who could bypass a ride on the Highway to the Sun? Trekking west after the Colorado visit, Southern Utah could be a new scene in reverse, unfamiliar paths were also at my disposal.

Thanks to traveler Dave for planting a solar seed which was subliminally reinforced by Road Rider’s July issue Road to Wisdom article. With my decision solidified, I loaded 12-hour days and my mapping program spit out a 4.5-day round-trip through Wyoming. With nine days to fill Colorado could fit right in.

A documented layout didn’t appear until T minus minutes to lift-off. All external references that led to this route’s selection were conveniently within grasp but inconveniently out-of-mind. Regardless, the maps were printed, urban navigation and connecting notes hand written in the margins; my road trip was formally planned.


Great Northwest

Fade to last winter, about the time I got back from the Right Coast, I started hard and heavy on assembling my 1100 that had been sitting on stands for three years. Most are familiar with at least some elements of the process; trips to parts provider’s web sites and hardware stores, employ a powder coater and toss in some manual labor; sanding, painting, polishing and wrenching. Nothing seemed to go together on first try and the daunting tasks dragged into monotony. All of the bikes took a back burner to my vision, which was an integral but unintentional step leading to highway heaven.


May 2008

Flash-forward to May and my 2000 ZR was almost complete. Meanwhile, Meanie Greenie got a fresh chain and sprockets. My daily commuter was much smoother but drive train vibes came-a-knockin’ as the departure date crept into immediacy. I assumed it was wheel bearings in concert with an out-of-spec rear wheel of unknown vintage. No way would anyone in their right mind ride a Hesa seat for thousands of miles so the issue-at-hand became ZRX1200r vibe elimination.

Prescribed resolution: Order of a set of wheels from Canada. While in transit some critical questions came up like, do I need to get a sprocket carrier bearing? Check with the seller, no, the ZZR wheels come with a new carrier. What about?.. Check the ZRXOA site and lots of questions were answered with a click of the mouse.

The new wheels showed up a week late, here on the Monday before departure. Tuesday the rims had new Road Acks, Wednesday they were on the bike sporting new-used front rotors with silver carriers. ZRXOA research…ZZR front rotors are 320s, knew that, and the rear rotor ain’t the same; what? Sprocket carrier is the same and the ZZR sprocket will work which was holding a 45 so she’ll run fewer RPMs than the fresh 46. Wait, the rear rotor is constructed to the same dimensions but is a different color and pattern than my bike’s, no problem, leave it on.  All assembled with the front rotors on backwards and the back wheel loose between the eccentrics, what else could go wrong? Took her apart and found that the left side ZZR spacer-cup is narrower than the ZRX part, stole it off of the black wheels and, viola, all together. Flip those rotors and done-deal.

Meanwhile at work: Some issues arose that may have required my attention on rally-week so the trip might be off. Not to worry, this is the Trips section…

I rode the 11 to work on my last day before vacation and left a little early (read: on time). That evening was a haze of prep, replace the running light bulbs…damn, one’s got a broken bracket…epoxy putty. More of this and that and wrenching dragged into Saturday morning…maybe I should plan to leave on Sunday.

Meanie was newly shod, tuned, breathing fresh air and pumping virgin oil; luggage rack towering over the tail ready for packed bags. With planning and preparation behind us, we got loaded-up, underway and in Burns, Oregon for our first night. It went smooth and uneventful, details?

Sunday Morning, depart my I-beam cottage to cross the Bay Bridge, on to I-80 then 505 to 5 all the way to my breath of fresh air, US299.


More interesting than I-5

Since the “I” prefix dropped from road identifiers the diversity of sights and road challenges marginally increased. First day was a get outa town day anyway so all of the drearies were taken in stride. Except for a distant plume from one of the lightning-strike forest fires the sky was electric blue contrasted by cottony clouds. Rural California presented a plethora of woods, pastures, mountains and flat straights. Everywhere I looked was green, a recurring theme on this outing. The Central Valley furnas was a faint memory at this point and with a left on US395 we’re Oregon bound.


Green

Grass, grass, grass and cattle blur by and then Goose Lake appeared to my left and stayed there for a long time. I kept thinking, “Where’s the state line?” Lakeview was the first Oregon town and a break was in order.


Lakeview

46 Smoking Bar


Kind and comic conversation with polite residents and tourists was a refreshing break from the road. Grabbed the camera, took a few candid shots of the city and we were off to the next stage.


395 North

Past Valley Falls 395 breaks off of 31 for a northeastern jog. Capturing a glimpse of civilization to my left a few phrases flashed on my brain from a passing sign to my right and made me shudder. Gotta think: sign says “90 miles to gas” and I’ve gone 85 miles? Man, that’s pushin’ it. Recent good gas mileage supported my decision to pursue forward momentum.


Flat, alien landscapes pass before 395 hooks up with 20 for a quick slash to the east.


Summer’s solstice produced extended shadows all evening

The 395/20-Tee has gas accompanied by my favorite road sign: “WARNING KINGPIN NOT RECOMMENDED…” By this time my body was hot, daylight was sinking and I was tired, better stop for the night and enjoy the Kingpin section tomorrow. Filled the tank in Burns and looked for a place to stay. Tanner introduced me to the consistent quality of Best Western Inns and I was lucky to find one minutes later. If I could only find a receptionist…

After a long walk, some food, a beer, a little time in the hot tub, a powerful shower and collapsing in a comfortable bed morning came before I knew it.


Downtown Burns

[Rubba]

A motorcyclist’s hotel

After breakfast I was on the road in nothin’ flat and 395 greeted me with some entertaining undulations. No roller coaster could induce the adrenaline rush provided by the terrain and tarmac on 395 this morning. Too soon the first tricky pass was in my rear-views and traffic was stopped at a flagman on a straight, flat section. I slipped to the front of the line, offed my helmet and walked towards the DOT flag-guy.

He announced without prodding “It’s gonna be about fifteen minutes.”
Ten miles of ruler-straight tarmac to the rear and more of the same disappearing into the horizon up front, I asked if the road was straight very far.
“Nah…see that white barn to the left?”
Yeah.
“It gets nice right after that.”

Soon the pilot vehicle showed up and flipped a youie to lead past the construction zone. Three guys with shovels were spoonin’ asphalt into a shallow 12X18 hole in the elevated highway. Add two trucks to complete the 200-foot construction zone that was be supported by a 5-mile single lane detour. Seemed there was no closer turn around area for the pilot vehicle.

Just before getting to the previously dime-sized white barn an ODOT truck that was moving along erratically caused concern. We were just about to hit some fine pavement and our leader is down on horsepower to weight ratio, maneuverability and sense of velocity. His unpredictable stop prescribed an immediate chill-pill achieved by falling way back to get a better view of the scene. Next thing, a doe jumped across the highway. Right on. After another quarter-mile the orange truck pulled over to the opposite side and retrieved a partially snacked-on deer.

395 was presented in three stages. Nice after Burns, better after Mt Vernon and best around Ukiah if I remember correctly.

Worried about gas availability, refills were frequent. At a one-horse stop my attendant turned on the pump and handed me the nozzle…an Oregon thing. The sign on the pump reads “I gotta figure the price” and all of the price displays were blocked out on the display. I asked about the comedic pump and he said, “Last year I paid to add a ‘3’ to the pump price.” He calculated my payment of around $12 and I waited for the Harleys to pass 65 miles north of John Day.






Smiles for miles after that segment



another mountain segment behind me


More grassy hills ahead



Cruising through Walla Walla half of my notes were on the backside of the map.

“Note to self…”

Navigation had to be pieced-together from visible key words, memory and street signs.or…stop. Exiting town past an industrial-looking prison had me thinking “nothing appealing here.” The feeling of displacement continued but my urge to stay on 125 was just as strong; after all, it was north-ish. At a small crossroads the map finally came out; turn right. Less than an inch later distraction came from a left turn sign directing me to a town that wasn’t too far out of the way, next we’re pulling a youie to head north towards Starbuck.



My Zen-set was enhanced off the beaten path in an ethereal dream world of twisty pavement and unfamiliar sights…not conducive to maintaining a schedule but a nice place to be. Soon a sign came into view indicating that I was not far off track, a US12 intersection. I have no idea where I was or how I got there.







Local 127 broke north off of US12 east and then our route took a turn towards Dusty at 26 on line with Colfax, WA. Dropping into town from an extended green scene was cause for celebration.



A toddler entertained me while Papa served up some ribs, cornbread with nuggets of corn kernel chunks and threw down some potato salad too. Served dry, I slathered the spears with house sauce, sampled the ribs and filled up on the sides. My hosts came up with the necessary accoutrements to transport more than a memory from rib heaven.

“Three!? That’d be a wonderful ride today” spouted the chef.



That kind of energetic approval piqued my curiosity. After missing a detour causing a side trip before crossing into Idaho, State Line came soon enough and onto Scenic Route Three. Asphalt had been fine all day and so was this. Mix in several sections of elevation change, woodsy sights and perpetual esses to cover the entertainment element of moto-travel.




A brief stop at a watering hole spiked the fun meter. I grabbed a soda and one of the locals was gazing at the front of my bike, figgered he was checkin' out the bugs…


"'Is that a radiator?!"




We talked for a minute before take-off. Moving on and getting more excellent miles under the tires before I-88 and gas, the attendant recommended Kellogg for a night’s stay. Arrival was delayed from a missed exit but my room and meal came soon enough; a coupla of beers and a 14” plate of Chicken Alfredo. The extra-large serving added to the ribs from Colfax left a huge plate of pasta. 3/4 of it had to go back but the pretty, young waitress said that the guys wouldn’t let it go to waste.


Looking back

TV, sleep.

[Rubba]

Good Morning

Was it almost noon before the bike was packed and rolling? A pair of lo-rez conflicting maps offered little insight into planned shortcuts found on Streets and Trips or Google Earth. “Just retrace westward and jump on Couer Dalene River Road” was the solution.



Scanning for the first programmed Montana shortcut option, NF-208 out of Prichard, while navigating an Idaho back road proved challenging; if 208 was that last dirt road it won’t be missed.



My second selection was further east and North of Thompson Falls. Follow 200 NW close to Trout Creek where a due North direction would slingshot me into Montana. A 150* right U after T-Creek turns me south for a short jaunt to Vermillion River Rd which turns out to be gravel. Poop. Blue Slide Rd eventually turned to Old Highway and Teed back at 200 and the only remaining option for passage.


Good enough left alone


Back on 200

“Hey! That was a fine looking road,” pull over, check the map and it looks good. A couple of Harley’s broke off of their group to check on my situation “just checkin’ the map, thanks for stoppin’.” Back at Buffalo Bill Rd the twists, turns and tarmac had me in nirvana. The slow speed limit signs should have been more of a warning that this extension to Montana became hard pack. The dirt miles had to be too numerous for me to chance.



Crossing into Montana gave me a sense of “Big Sky.” How did this feeling encroach me? What’s different about this region that gives one the sense of “big?”

Eventually I arrived in Columbia Falls to prepare for Park entry. After a pit stop my turn-around destination lies directly ahead. The gatekeeper told me the pass was closed, “has been all year.” With that I got back on the road to East Glacier Park for connection to Wyoming.


Surprise locomotives in the woods

Fill up in Browning. Groups of locals, maybe 50 people, were hanging around in the shade close to the store. It appeared to me that watching tourists was premium entertainment here. The cool alpine conditions were 30 miles behind me and local dress confirmed that the 90* air temperature was normal.


Headed south on 89


Bikes headed south too


Through town


Southwest on 287

After a break in Choteau 287 took me on a more southwestern path. This shortcut off of 89 was intended to align with Yellowstone. The views were rewarding and the road surface was smooth as glass, all new asphalt pushed me to spirited velocities. I couldn’t remember the last vehicle I saw and my only complaint was that the drainage piping was incomplete. This left short sections of gravel detours as a work-around for each of the five construction zones I passed. I wouldn’t complain except the percentage of large stones included in the gravel recipe hindered safe navigation. Keep the bike straight and smooth and shoot for the hard pack when possible. Passage went without incident and I was happy for the fresh pavement. Soon another construction zone came into view and as I approached could see that the gravel detour disappeared over a hill. “How long was this detour?” The closest crossroads was too far back and I’ve done my share of adventure touring on a Rex before so head on. With every passing curve and crested hill came anticipation for the sight of firm ground. No problem, after a few seat sucking miles of weaves and bobs Meanie got parked on another section of fresh asphalt.


Whew, through the 287 construction

Similar to home conditions, when the sun was not in direct contact with my body it got cold. I always wear a layer under my leathers but I felt an impending “two-dog night.” An almost deserted picnic area offered modest shelter for a quick change into super-long johns and a second layer of socks.


Cold crossroads

Earlier decisions forced my hand into an all-nighter. An approaching truck stop was a welcome site in those dark hours. After a warm up rest was imperative. Propped on the bike, snuggling in the lawn and lying on a box all seemed like unsuccessful napping positions. Mix in freezing temperatures for a full-on miserable experience. Surprisingly, a dream was interrupted by two trucks starting. Chilled to the bone, I reentered the store for coffee, warmth and a little time for body functions to return. Soon we had a convoy that I dared not break.


Pre-Yellowstone dawn

Hotcakes and sausage greeted me at the West Yellowstone McDonalds. Warm-up, more coffee and another stop for gas were accomplished in record time but I still cringed with every tour bus and overloaded minivan snaking in front of me. Yellowstone was beautiful and a formidable destination.


Through Yellowstone






Teton peak

Heavy overcast conditions and the backdrop of snow covered mountains gave me the impression that it would be cold all day but as the sun got higher and brighter the temperature became pleasant. Caught in a string of traffic gave me an excuse for another nap.

Yellow break

Views in every direction were phenomenal; seeing the mountains, lakes, wildlife and plants gave me an inferiority complex. What a huge and wonderful land.


South of Yellowstone


Wildflowers just peaking


Teton pose

At Jackson I decided the option of my trip to Colorado was out. The return route was already documented and I hadn’t discussed plans to attend so I dumped on the OA and headed west.

US 89 presented a mix of entertaining and monotonous conditions. Everything was new and there’s nothing better than touring the countryside on a motorcycle. With that said, nothing I’d experienced prepared me for the entertainment found after Garden City, Utah on Bear Lake. The double-line seldom broke and except for some turn-outs there were few sections to pass but traffic was light and when I caught a line of traffic I would simply turn around. Excitement lasted almost all the way to Logan where utility construction pissed in my Wheaties.

Coming out of the mountains brought triple-digit temperatures too. By the time I was enveloped by Salt Lake City a stop was mandatory. Relief came in the form of ice cream at McDonalds.

The next stop was just south of Salt Lake. The darn map resolution issue again. A ZX-14 rider chatted me up and directed me to my intended crossover to Delta, my night’s destination. 132 and 6 were fun in the late Utah evening and I had a room in Delta before the sun was set.

[Rubba]

The drag of US 50 in western Utah had me repeatedly twisting the throttle back when cars would approach. Cars coming, look down, “how did I get going that fast?” slow down, cars pass and the cycle starts over. As one group of cars passed I caught a glimpse of fireworks out of the corner of my eye which turned out to be a sheriff. “Any reason you’re doing 88 in a 55?” No sir.

The Nevada border was only a minute from my unplanned stop and an unmarked police car was parked just past the state line. Huh.

My turn to stay on 6 to Tonopah was coupled with lunch. US 6 is as pretty as US 50.


Nevada break

US 6 shares many of 50’s elements.


Not 50 but just as lonely

California’s wildfires were national headlines but I was not prepared for this presentation.



120 movie magic?


More 120




Uninviting


Surreal section of Inyo National forest

I can’t believe she wouldn’t let me go first. Every flagman/flagwoman/flagperson directed me to the front, sometimes energetically. Not in California. Park second.


120 Construction


Yosemite break

Remnants of rain through Yosemite and a dark trek home are the only details worth mentioning. The Utah Sheriff asked if I was on my way home. Was this a reminder…

I didn’t make it to the rally but maybe I'll try next year!

[Sbyllek]

Fantastic report! I thoroughly enjoyed both your narrative and the pictures!!!
Looks like a great adventure.

[MrPepsi]

Deffinitely a ride I will have to add to the list. Nice write up.

[Nirvana]

Excellent pictures! Bookmarked for reading later.

Keep them coming!

[Back2bikes]

Great pictures and narrative, thanks for sharing your trip. The bike looks great, nice job.

[EyeOnTheSky]

Great writeup. The next-to-last pic cracks me up. She looks like she was trying to block your shot while lighting up a cig at the same time.

Jackasses can be found anywhere.

[Ally House]

Great pics, and wonderful story. "Note to self" is one of my standard by-lines.