Matt Watkins Wandering North America

I’m in Chetwynd, BC having a sandwich and some soup…after I scored the WAC Bennett Dam.  I reached the 56th parallel…the farthest North I’ve every been!.

Turning south now watching billowy clouds roll by and headed to Dam #20 in North Central Washington.

Banff rocked!

My last ride, hopefully, for Dam Tour #18, #19, and #20 will be a 2000 mile loop over a 4 day Memorial Weekend to WAC Bennett Dam near Hudson’s Hope, BC.  This will be the farthest North I’ve been before….above the 56th parallel.

I’m also picking up a dam in the far Northeastern corner of Washington after spending Thursday night with some old friends in Rathdrum, ID. Fridayis a ride up through Banff….which I was last at 37 years ago.  I wonder if the water of Lake Louis is as blue and clear as in my pre-Kindergarten memory.  Dad had me convinced alligators were in the lake and would rock the canoe back and forth saying they were trying to bite through the boat.

Clicky here for the map until I get it embedded again.

http://www.towelday.org/

Day 1 – Pasco to Montana
With trailblazers like Roger, Cary, and Matthew Cook having snagged Buffalo Bill Dam already I wasn’t so much worried about bagging the dam, but how I was going to make a fun three day ride out of things. If I rode in classic Iron Butt style I would jet to the dam via I-90 and then suffer through Yellowstone traffic and snag Swan on the way back. But, I also saved it for a three day weekend where I could enjoy things a bit.

Counties Galore
A couple days before I was waxing nostalgic on a ride I did 3 years ago to visit every county seat in Washington State over 52 hours. See http://mattwatkins.org/ibr09/?p=379 I also remembered how Bob Higdon took 3 years and visited EVERY SINGLE COUNTY SEAT in all 50 states.

So, I decided to make this into two-rides-in-one and score some of the county seats along the way through Idaho (13), Wyoming (2), Montana (, and Oregon (2). 25 total the over 3101 needed. Nothing like achieving 0.8% of your objective in an 1800 mile ride!

And I won’t post all 25 pictures in the report, but suffice it to say they’re accumulating at http://picasaweb.google.com/eltopia/Counties#

I snagged several courthouses in Idaho going over Lolo Pass (50 mph is stupid by the way for this stretch State of Idaho) and entering Missoula began a slog across I-90 stopping every 50 miles visiting a new courthouse in various states of restoration or disrepair. Butte’s is impressive to be sure….big blocks of granite. And Sweetwater County is the paragon of modest simplicity.

Sunset’s Irony
It’s always been cognitive dissonance for me when riding at the end of the day pointing east. Looking forward you see shadows lengthen and after the sun set colors wash out and the sky fades to a dull blue. The reflections of your headlight start to become noticeable as your retinas starve for excitement. Life takes on a more monotone hue and the background slowly evaporates as life in the beam becomes the priority.

Wham! You look in the rearview mirror and you get treated to a pallette of colors, contrast of lights, and texture that makes you want to turn around and ride the other way for the next few minutes. You get treated to a Montana sunset.

You can’t help but grab a handful of binders and pull over to the side of the road. You scramble for the camera and vainly try to capture the moment. And it looks good! ….especially in the plains of Big Sky country. But, at best they’re two dimensional abstractions of a memory that adds depth and a visceral dimension that can’t ever be captured by pixels.

But even the memory fleeting too. At most you retain a vague sense that you saw something beautiful and tally one up on the tote board of life experience.

Turning back east the sky is even more black and I spent the next half hour with MP3 player muted and thought about life.

Into the Dark Maw
Turning off I-90 at Columbus I snapped a very fuzzy picture of a courthouse and began to live life in the beam of my HID lights. I chose 78 to Red Lodge and would suggest other Dam Riders avoid this road. It’s chewed up with multiple miles of construction gravel.

But, rolling into Red Lodge I noticed the elevation was climbing and snow drifts on the side of the road. It was dark….it was cold….and it was desolate. I’d look for a motel at this point and took my time snapping one of my better night shots (notice the blurry flag in the breeze).

Except for one bar the town’s streets were rolled up for the night. I found the last motel in town about to lock the doors and even offered me a room for $50 because I looked road weary. I took him up on the offer and settled into a hungry sleep having missed dinner except for some stale jerky and trail mix. Continental breakfast at 6:30 would taste good.

Day 2 – Wyoming and Idaho

Cody and the Dam
Getting up at about 6:30 my internal clock time I scrambled down the lobby hoping for some protein at the continental breakfast. I was sorely disappointed as the most elaborate presentation was a piece of cling wrap over the top of semi-stale white bread and seriously off-brand jelly. I poured a cup of coffee while my bread further dried out in the toaster and wrapped some trail mix from the night before in between.

Time to blow this popsicle stand and I was on the road within 15 minutes headed the last 70 miles to Cody. Cool and clear I marveled at the snow covered mountains and could tell I crossed into Wyoming as I spotted oil wells pumping BTUs out of the primordial ground.

I snagged a picture of the county courthouse, stocked up on fresh trail mix and jerky at the Wal-Mart, passed with wonder the Wild Bill Cody museum (in hindsight I should have stopped as I hear they have a huge arsenal gun collection), and headed up to my GPS coordinates of the dam.

About 11 miles after turning off the main highway I turned into some very rural gravel roads and encountered a foreboding gate still over a mile from the spot I needed. Something wasn’t quite right.

I circled around to another side road and couldn’t get closer and the water was a long ways away–let alone the sight of a dam. Pulling out my laminated sign I rechecked coordinates and somehow had them off by about a mile and turns out the dam was closer to the original highway.

Unwinding the 11 miles of back road I found a much more appealing canyon and tunnel system that felt right. Rolling into the parking lot I parked my bike as close as i could to the actual dam structure and pressed the shutter release.

Click.

That 1/125 of a second exposure represented a trip of about 25 hours to get there. 16 dams down….4 to go.

I felt a little self-conscious about the amount of carbon I generated for that particular click….but as I eyed the snow-covered peaks to the west I re centered myself with the idea that I was about to ride into Yellowstone.

Yo Boo-Boo…..There’s a Pic-in-ic Basket!
I’ve never been clear whether Yogie Bear’s Jellystone Park was a take-off of Yellowstone or Yosemite, and I have to admit until a few years ago I had concatenated the two as a single place.  It was all a mushy memory that a cool national park existed with geysers and Ansel Adams scenery…. somewhere in the western U.S.   Who was I know they were a thousand miles apart?

It wasn’t until I visited Yosemite in 2007 that I finally got the difference. And three years later I was now visiting the other place….with the geysers…..who knows about Ansel Adams.

What I still didn’t get was the enormity of Yellowstone nor fully reconcile what it meant to enter it from “the East Entrance”.

Yellowstone is FRICKIN huge! It’s 3400 square miles! That’s 3 times the size of Rhode Island with basically 4 roads leading in and out of it at the cardinal points. Instead of it being a push pin on a map…it was another one of those dashed territories within a state to me.

And it’s up high up too. The terrain looks a little bit like central Oregon to me, but it’s pushed up thousands of feet…which makes sense since you’re basically riding on top of a mega volcano biding it’s time before it blows up in another mass extinction event. Or at least that’s what the Discovery Channel says.

$20 to ride through this park so I opted to buy an annual pass for $80. I anticipate riding through parks a bunch this season and figured it could be a fun game to see how I do financially. The drill instructor wearing ranger was a friendly chap this a.m. and gave me special warning about buffalo. A little flier highlighted that they could trot 30 mph and like to occasionally gore people.

Eww. Note to self….getting gored wouldn’t be good while on a bike.

And it wasn’t a half hour before I was treated to my first view of a sentient creature double the weight of myself and rally-prepped bike. I called him Wild Bill…and he seemed to respond to it turning gently as I snapped this picture.

And what would a Dam Tour ride be without the obligatory placard in the shot?

And just a few miles up the road Bill’s brother, Bob, was sunning himself near Yellowstone Lake.

A few miles down the road I caught a corner with light just right and thought it made an interesting photo….I dunno if came out as good as I remember being there though.

Meandering through the park I was treated to some great views including high passes with avalanche signs all over, early season tourist poking along at 20 mph enjoying their slightly-different experience, and found myself unable to resist visiting perhaps the most iconic part of Yellowstone…..Old Faithful.

I ventured west of the center of the park 20 miles to visit Old Faithful. I parked on the backside of a lodge and joined the throng of tourists surrounding the field and waited about 20 minutes for it to do its thing.

Snap. A picture taken millions of times before, but still impressive. It’s like Mother Earth with bad acid reflux.

Unwinding the 20 miles and getting hit with a light spitting of snow I pointed towards the south entrance of the park and set my GPS navigation to Jackson, Wyoming. I’d been through Jackson once before in my ‘09 IBR, but in the wee hours of the morning with all the traffic lights flashing yellow. I wanted to see it by day.

Big Giant Tits
But, first I immediately was launched into yet another National Park.  Grand Teton National Park offers a view very much different than the magma bulge of Yellowstone. I was treated to stellar view that did capture well on the camera! One of my better photos of the season:

It’s what I think of when I see K2 or the Matterhorn…something about a flat valley with precariously towering peaks that look like they could slough off at any moment like a summer movie with special effects.

Jackson was fun and I snagged another county courthouse picture. Wyoming’s big and in the 300 or so miles I had been in the state, I only visited two county seats.

And Jackson was nice, full of people, but too early in the day to park just yet. I was also still 800 miles from home and wanted to make my last day about 600 miles.

Heading west I climbed over a steep 10% pass and then down into the flats of southern Idaho. With just one dam to snag on the way  home I tried scooping up county courthouses, and this stretch of Idaho I’ve never been to (and not planning to be again) is prime country for scooping them up.  Here’s a little inkling of what I’m thinking about doing including the counties I’ve documented to date:

Bing, bing, bing, I snagged about 5 counties in 75 miles….very rewarding feeling and more like scooping them up when I eventually undertake the eastern U.S.
Fremont County, St. Anthony, ID

Scooping up a half dozen courthouses in a southern arc of really small counties I pointed my bike west for the last time at Blackfoot, ID and launched out into the desolate reaches of sagebrush desert.

“Sense of Humor Necessary”
As I meandered back west I crossed the large stretch of high desert that is Idaho National Labs…a sister site to where I work. www.inl.gov On the GPS a little town called out “Atomic City” and I couldn’t help but investigate. Little life and a whole lot of abandoned building….I imagined it was an important outpost in the days of the Cold War and found a curiosity of neon and banner. The proprietor even came out and waved an invitation I couldn’t resist but going in.

To call this place a “bar” would be a bit generous. It was more like a service station work bay that had just only had an oil-leaking car removed and shop stools added. Smoke was the order of the day and mixed well with the leftover axle grease aura. Liquor service seemed to be solely from a half-gallon plastic jug of Seagrams….but I’m sure had sufficient backup stashed in a cardboard box somewhere. The six patrons seemed unfazed by the rustic nature of the establishment and thoroughly wasted from alcohol and/or aromatic petroleum distillates.

This picture is from the website, but must have been when the place was shiny new.  ….it seemed slightly more worn by my visit.

After being dismissively welcomed as a “BMW” rider by two Harley couples….I corrected them about riding a Yamaha.

They apologized profusely after peering out at the bike again to make sure I wasn’t lying….and re-dismissed me as a “rice rocket” owner. Apparently, in the Harley psyche that’s a completely different branch of unorganized grabastic amphibian shit.  I would henceforth be treated as a fake bike owner, doesn’t cost as much as a Beemer, and has almost as much performance as their marquee.

Whatever.  I’m increasingly of the opinion that Harley merchandising is more harmful to the American public than  some drugs….sigh.

The previous waving guy introduced himself as the proprietor of Powerhouse Pizza and former Governor of Alaska. I thought that slightly implausible so I introduced myself as Mayor of Pasco and he seemed to give me the same kind of implausible look back.

I reveled in the irony….and hoped he wasn’t actually a former Governor.

We kibitzed about the town, the lack currently of obvious infrastructure, and how it used to be a much nicer place back when it was powered by the nearby nuclear plant.  That all struck a chord of truth in my brain as I knew a nearby town was in the first to be powered by nukes in the early 50’s. Sure seemed natural it would be “Atomic City” that boasted such a distinction.

As I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler the owner stumbled off in search of something to give me.  I seemingly said something that entertained him enough to return with a business card and insist I visit the website googlegrease.com when I return home.

He then commenced to dropping facts and ideas that would make even Ron Paul blush at being ludicrously improbable. Apparently, this man was sure high-speed rail was going to be built planet wide with a minor spur going through the area of Idaho.

And of course I had to believe him because the card also had “Costumes Optional” printed clearly on it in Comic Sans font.

As I and the patrons emptied the drinks in front of us I had a vague sense that about twelve seconds after I departed the establishment–there would be seven people laughing their asses off for the next half-hour and/or through to a fresh bottle of Seagrams.  Atomic City was a funny place!

As I rode away I thought it also would be a stellar place to make a bonus for in a future rally, and the sign for the raceway….made me reevaluate and realize they’d be laughing far more than a half hour at the accidental and slightly gullible tourist .

The Real Atomic City
Another 20 miles and 15 minutes up the road (one can do this sort of thing when you don’t pass cars for miles on end) was the town of Arco. While I’m sure the Atomic City crew was still laughing….I was sure this place was the actual town powered by nukes.

http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2960

And as I fueled up, checked the rate for the motel as $45 after tax, and confirmed there were two bars within walking distance I decided to call it home for the night and park the bike.

I snapped a picture of the courthouse in the waning light and a picture of a Quonset hut gone Flintstones Community Center.

I showered up at the D-K Motel….which I highly recommend it as a clean and cozy little place for the money.

I walked down to the Mello-Dee Club & Steakhouse for a scotch. Nothing like 3 solid fingers of Chivas for $5!

The locals were a friendly mix of small town Americana not unlike my peeps in Eltopia at the Homestead Scales Tavern.  I announced myself early as a “tourist” and let them do most of the talking.

One hand, a thick thumb, and a couple spread fingers of Scotch later I wandered/staggered back towards the hotel room.  I had a nightcap at the Sawtooth Club (to make sure I spread my tourist dollar around a bit), had a short and mildly interesting conversation with a former Kirkland resident, and back to the room to prepare for what was sure to be a mild hangover once the sun came up.

Day 3.0 – ID to Home

Morning Glow
There’s something entirely non-magical about waking up with drool pooling on your pillow and opening one eye to spy dusky glow through the shades of an impending sunrise and 700 miles of riding.   When you try and open the other eye you feel somebody has placed an icepick through it and into your temporal lobe.  You quickly surmis had at least four fingers too much to drink the night before.

Dang those locals that bought you that last drink!

You don’t do it often anymore being 41+ and all….having learned a few basic lessons in life about liver biology and no such thing as free lunches.  But but you also know that several decades earlier you could have probably handled more fingers than you could count without the nasty after effects.  Growing old is great for the extra toys you get to accumulate, but hangovers suck.

So, I did like anybody that had ambition to get the day going on the final glorious day of weather…I went to the bathroom for a long pee, popped a couple aspirin, downed a glass of water, and went back to sleep until a time and motivation level to be determined later.  I could skip counties and be home in 600 miles if I had to.

Day 3.1 – ID to Home (Really This Time)

The extra two hours of of sleep and hydration helped out a bunch and I found my second start to the day much more effective.   The ice pick had melted and as I packed the bike I could see locals were milling about doing Sunday type things one does in a small town…I guess.

I snagged a cup of a coffee and an Sausage McGeneric at the Shell station to shut the blinking low grease and caffeine lights in the corner of my eye.  The cool air felt good and gobbling up road miles was the right prescription.

And I pointed the bike west on a great two-lane highway that extended to a nearby mountain range. That range was the goal for the morning….Craters of the Moon National Monument.

An even cheerier ranger than Yellowstone greeted me at this gate and I handed him my newly minted Annual Pass. $8 more and $52 to break even. And he highlighted a couple spots I might enjoy a stop at with a motorcycle tank bag full of stuff I’d rather not have disappear.

Smart and biker-empathetic ranger are the bomb!

I did the loop, stopped at one spot, and took a few pictures. I would like to have stayed longer, but the motel mattress had held me against my will longer than I had wanted.  I was running on homing instinct and wanted to snag a few courthouses in areas I doubt I’d come again.

Craters, however, was a place I would need to come back some day and spend some time.

Sleepy Towns Sometimes Surprise
Heading across 20 I plugged in Hailey, ID to the GPS and did a 30 mile jog to catch it…and was thoroughly stunned at what the town was. I full expected a medium sized Idaho town with a county seat and I also knew it was in a valley not far from Sun Valley.

But when I say three private jets parked on the tarmac at a modern commuter airport I was blown away. I spotted a Cessna Citation V that runs in the $2 Million+ range and and a series of hangars that rival stuff I’ve seen at Boeing Field before. What was parked inside them I didn’t know, but this town wasn’t your typical Idaho berg. Folks with purpose and cash come to this town of less than 10,000 regularly.

I snagged the county courthouse and did a loop through the airport. Security cameras and high fences everywhere….I felt like I had stumbled into Gatesville or Buffet Town.

And I’d later find that the place is a magnet for Bill Gates, Paul Allen, and others with interesting meetings. http://mtexpress.com/index2.php?ID=2005126950&FORM=ZZNR10

Back to the Lowlands

Backtracking to Highway 20 I started to put this ride in perspective and realized how much new country and surprises I had seen. Other than Lolo and I-90 it was all new to me!   A measure of a solid ride and I was smiling.

Since Montana I had been 5000-9000 range the whole time and that’s unusual for this lowlander from where the Columbia Pool hovers around 500 feet. Even as I dashed through Carey and back on familiar roads at Mountain Home I was back in the 3000-4000 foot range.

I plugged away at a few over on I-84 and fiddled with my GPS trying to find a more direct route to the next dam. I couldn’t find any route that didn’t involve unknown “gray” roads on the GPS that could either be smooth gravel or rutted goat trails, and settled on just backtracking.

Swan Dam was popular this Sunday with tourists and I snuck into a tight parking spot to snap a photo and dash out. Again, one of those cases I would liked to have spent more time, but really wanted to get home before dark and catch up on reading my council packet for Monday.

Snap.

Push Towards Home
Rewinding some of the road I picked off another half dozen counties along the way including a fun little two-laner between Weiser, ID and I-84 in Oregon along the Snake. Mirroring the winding river bugs caked my windshield and had to clean it twice in the 20 mile stretch back to the Interstate.

LaGrande had another courthouse that was rather impressive and surprising too.

Shortly after in the mountains I hit my first real rainstorm of the whole ride and welcomed it for the cleaning effect it has on a bike and rider that has amassed copious amounts of insect protein in the prior 1700 miles.

One more stop in Pendleton and I set the rudder for the last time for Pasco rolling in about 8 p.m……and a dinner other than jerky and trail mix.

17 dams down, 3 to go. Next and final ride is to WAC and two in Northern Washington….planned for Memorial Day Weekend.

Total distance: 1800+ miles.  Time: 2.5 days.

Thanks Dam Tour staff for a great season!

This is a test of POP3 e-mail to the blog.

A fellow FJR owner and forum dweller is attempting a 48+ ride…which means he’s visiting all 48 states plus Alaska in less than 10 days. Tony’s starting in Florida and to make sure he at least get’s the initial 48 states has asked me to be a provisional witness for the last state of Washington.

It’s usually me posting for others to watch, but this is a case of where I get to sit at work and watch others ride. SPOT rocks!

And, it’s not just Tony, but a bunch of others that do the 48+ this time of year to culminate their ride at the same time and place as honored guests at Hyderseek in Hyder, Alaska. Another friend from Vancouver, Dennis, is doing a 48++ where he rode down to Calexico, Mexcio and started there. His ride will be 49 states and 3 countries. His route is, of course, different than a person that started in Florida, but I have private access to that one…a case where SPOT users can choose to be public or private about their rides.

‘Ya gotta love choices.

Tuckered out after 1800+ miles….had a good time. Report including pics in the next few days.

Made it through the East entrance and all the way to Old Faithful for a show in Yellowstone. Man, that is a big, GIANT park! Then took off out of the south entrance. Roads were clear and dry except for where it spit snow on me for about 3 minutes near Faithful.

Then through the Tetons….and those mountains are KEWL!

I meandered around Idaho gathering up county seats near the route and holed up in Arco tonight…the home of the first nuclear reactor that powered a town. Idaho National Lab is near here…a sister site to where I work.

Two bars in town and both are in walking distance of the motel I parked my bike. Woo hoo!

Maybe I’ll put up pictures later depending on how late this town stays open.

Tomorrow is Swan Dam and then back home…with some more counties.

I’m in Red Lodge, MT after having ridden a couple hours past dark. Man, Montana is dark! It’s also cold in this area up against the mountains with snow in the parking lot.

I had hoped to make it to Cody, but only an hour ride in the morning. Nothing open for dinner so it’s trail mix and jerky for a late dinner and an early breakfast.

Then on to the dam near town and a big day through Yellowstone. Where is my pic-in-ic basket?

I’ve also been stopping to take pictures of county courthouses…thinking I might try and visit all 50 states one day. I figure about 45 down and 1500 to go.

Carbon County, MT

The dam second farthest away from home is near Cody, Wyoming and a three day weekend in May seems like a good time to try and snag this dam…plus one near Boise on the way home making a nice loop including Yellowstone.  I haven’t ever been to Yellowstone before so this ride promises a bunch of new sites.

I haven’t yet finalized the route direction I’m traveling and may be dependent on weather and sleep schedule, but inclined clockwise for now to get out to the dam via Lewiston and Lolo Pass on Friday and then work my way back as Saturday and Sunday allow.  I’m also planning to stop and get pictures of some county seats…thinking about a a longer goal of visiting every courthouse in the U.S…..I’m 39 down and 1500 or so to go.

Meanwhile, this ride marks three weekends in a row that I’m planning 1500+ miles rides.  Nothing like putting the hurt on a rear tire or two by May!  Thanks Dam Tour organizers!

After I saw somebody snag Timothy Lake on 4/25 and nary a bit of snow in sight…I thought I’d be good to finally snag Timothy Lake after my third try.  And I did…barely.

Leaving home at about 2 a.m. I had a great little romp down the Washington side of 12 and even extended on past to Hood River as I’ve never been over the bridge before.  I figured a toll was worth it, but steel grates for 3/4 of a mile induces a shimmy on a bike that’s rather disconcerting.  I imagine when it’s wet it’s less fun.

Mid 40’s I paid the Oregon side attendant 50 cents and cranked another notch in my electrics as he gave me the universal “Brrr!” sign making change for a buck.  I pointed up the hill in the pre-dawn hour and had the road to myself through the bergs of Odell, Mt. Hood, and passed campgrounds with slumbering patrons.  I stopped and put on another layer of fleeced, punched up a a fresh MP3 album, and another notch on the electrics as temperature dropped into the 30’s.

As I edged over the pass at Mt. Hood Meadows I arced through the corners noticing light sand was on the road.  I kicked it down a couple notches and an kept in the paved track arcing through the corner.  The butt end still kicked out a bit and I started to notice going down hill the sand getting thicker and it hit me….that ain’t sand.  It’s snow!

Damn Dams!

I figured if there was no snow on the east side of 4674′ summit of Bennett Pass….it must just be near the top and late season holdover.  So, I crawled along thinking it would break up into slush.  30 degrees though on the thermometer and as I put my feet down the center track was more slick than the snow so I moved off the side of the road and plodded along at 10 mph vainly hoping it would turn to slush.

But another mile and a few hundred feet drop in elevation and rolling clouds started moving in and spit light snow.  I tickled the rear brake and ABS kicked in instantly….so I slid to a stop and did an honest assessment of where I needed to be and how much more screwed I could get if I didn’t turn around.

Looking at the map there was another Barlows Pass I’d have to climb up before I’d be able to hook a left on 26 and truly descend another 1000 feet or so.  There could be 10 miles of this and I’d be truly screwed.  Also, I didn’t know for sure whether the east side was open to the lake.   I assumed the 4/25 rider came in from the west and I had been shut out by snow my first time when the west approaching riders made it without much of a problem.

Fook!

So, I turned around.  It’s better to ride another day than test out my bike’s sliders or have to explain to an OSP why I don’t have chains on my vehicle.   The mile back up the pass was just as sketchy as the first time, but I felt better and better about my choice as I unwound the 40 miles back to Hood River.  My toes were becoming numb as I was getting below the precious curve of body heat, but figured I’d make ground on that the closer I got to sea level.

Twilight pierced the trees and I cranked my jacket it’s last notch and watched my voltage dip another couple tenths to levels I couldn’t run my ultra high-beam lights.  Heat was more important at this point and The Eagles harmonized away as I made it back to the high-pressure sodium lights of Hood River.  I dabbled with my GPS and pondered another 123 miles to loop around via Estacada or 173 miles back to a warm bed at home and a fourth trip to Timothy Lake.  Decisions…decisions.

I yanked LEFT at the last second onto I-84 and joined the trickle of early morning Sunday traffic headed to Portland.  What the heck.  Anytime motorcycling is supposed to be good…even if the wind is gusting and battling with intermittent rain clouds.  One toe had warmed back up just a little.

As dawn truly approached and the sun made it’s way over the horizon I could scarcely tell it was a sunrise with the gray skies of Burnside Avenue.  Meandering the secondary roads of Boring, Oregon I tried to guess the variety of vegetation at the dewy nurseries and tried to spot the mythic Porsche 356 Speedster in leaning wooden barns.  As each mile unwound closer to that gate 8 miles from the lake I was more and more committed, but more and more ambivalent.  Between icy clouds I spied snow on the tops of mountains and sighed.  I’m tired of this dam and just want the frickin’ picture.

Carving the road up 224 to Ripplebrook I turned onto the moss covered road and hoped I’d see an early morning dam worker and flag him down to ask if the gate was closed….at least to save me a few miles.  If it was closed I’d ride my 250 miles back home and shake my head.

The clouds broke again and I could see snow a few hundred feet above my position.  10 miles to go…that’s not good.

Another 8 miles and I saw the gate open!  A gravel road extended to the next bend…part gravel…part mud.  It was a relief!  8 more miles and I’d do my best job at impersonating a snowmobile if I had too.  Hopefully, I could get within a mile or two of the dam and hike the rest of the way!  I had all day after all.

The miles ticked off, 7, 6, some potholes formed with standing water, 5, snow sticking to the tops of trees, 4, 3, clearing up a bit as I dropped elevation, 2, up a slpe again, 1, it opens up and I get to the DAM dam with no soul around.

Belated Victory

I snapped a picture, took a piss, muttered something when I probably should have screamed like a conquering viking….but the truth I was just glad to finally snag this dam.  There wasn’t any glamor at this point….my toes were numb again and I wanted to go home to upload my evidence.

As I mounted my bike I noted there was no actual snow on the road at 3200 feet so I turned my attention to the east I had so vainly tried to approach and wondered if or where the road was blocked at.  Surely I couldn’t go back over Mt. Hood again on 26 North, but memory from my first time through told me I might be able to make it to Highway 26 and go drop elevation to the south.  I wouldn’t have to go all the way to bend according to the GPS, and it would be far shorter to go through Maupin on the way home than back through Estacada…by probably 80 miles!

So, I took what turned out to be a paved road to 26.  It was actually easier going than the gravel westward approach except the snow sticking to the tops of trees dropping lower and lower as I and the road inches higher and higher in elevation.

I was right on the edge of the snow line the entire way.  Old snow drifts extended into the tarmac like fingers of lingering cancer.  Downed trees bear fresh chainsaw marks for the upcoming tourist season.  Spots of road shifted from a wet sheen to a mottled appearance with little pustules of fresh and white crispy cancer ice.  The air spit rain, big globs of snow, and sleet.

Nature was ambivalent too.

I guided the bike through the miles of perpetual 32 degrees half expecting the whole mess to transition to a skating rink with a puff of her breath.  Elevation climbed to 3800 and I dreaded hitting nature’s ceiling before the highway.   But, as I wound the miles down to 26 I sighed a breath of relief and snapped a picture of the lesson in meteorology knowing it was finally going to be aneasier ride home.  I had finally won Timothy Lake and Mt. Hood.

Frosting…the Non-Icy Kind

In fact, I even got to add a couple new roads to my belt and that’s ALWAYS the best antidote to having to ride a particular old road.  One nugget was an odd little back road between Tygh Valley and Grass Valley.  On the map it doesn’t look anything, but it plummet elevation down the Rogue River and through a stretch of confined rapids that Natives fish in the old way with poles and visitor anglers pay a fee to stare at fish with polarized glasses.  And the road to the east has a stretch of twisty corners that beg a high-powered motorcycle to twitch through leaning rapidly left and right between each easy corner.  The center stripe is designed to be ignored on this segment of road as well and the road farther east is further proof that redlines and upper gears are all alive and well in the modern West.

Even snagged a photo of my nemesis and wave goodbye in the mirror.

Timothy Lake is finally added to The Win column…..5 more dams to go.

I gotta go snag Timothy Lake if I’m going to hope to finish the Dam Tour by Memorial Weekend.  I saw a picture snagged from 4/25 that had no snow anywhere to be seen…so I hope I can come in from the east side.

Plan is to leave about 2-3 a.m. and catch it at sunrise.  I had a long nap this afternoon.