North to the Threshold of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

North to the Threshold of the Upper Peninsula

It was raining as Barley and I exited the hotel. Seven shiny Harleys were clustered under the covered parkway, their owners smoking cigarettes and staring at the clouds as if willing them to part. As they saw me loading up the rig, they pushed their bikes together to make a space for us under the shelter.

“Bring your rig up here, Brother,” one called out to me. “If you’re determined to ride in the rain you ought to at least start out dry.’

The sidecar rolled easily as I pushed it to the entrance and thanked them. Barley made friends while I retrieved the rest of our gear and lashed it all down securely. They noticed my Vermont plates and asked me where we were headed, looking surprised at my reply, “Minnesota.” They were all from a town about eighty miles to the west, and anticipated the return home would take all day. Noticing my puzzled look, one explained, “We stop for the smallest tank or the weakest bladder, whichever happens first.”

We all laughed, but it was clear we found each other’s riding style strange.

With a wave to our new friends, Barley and I headed north, the rain stopping as we crossed into Michigan. Southern Michigan looks a lot like northern Ohio: flat, carefully cultivated, dotted with farms. By mid-morning it was warm enough that I needed to take off my rain gear. I hadn’t eaten yet, and my tummy was rumbling. We followed a minivan into a small town, the woman driver showing an amazing ability to drive in a straight line while applying mascara and eye liner.

Driving Under the Influence of Maybelline

Grassy areas are good choices for play and napping

Barley has a keen nose, able to find a McDonald’s long before it’s visible. I could tell by his behavior that the scent of hash browns was on the breeze. Sure enough,  a few minutes later I could see the golden arches ahead on the right. I signaled and pulled into the driveway just ahead of mascara woman, who had overshot and was backing up. She was behind us in the drive-thru, still applying makeup. I got my breakfast and an extra hash browns for Barley, then pulled into a parking spot next to a grassy area so Barley could stretch his legs while I shed the rain liner.

Mascara Woman pulled in next to us. The rear of the minivan was occupied by her four small sons, each utterly devoted to his meal. I found her fascinating. Never before had I met a woman who could carry on a conversation while simultaneously eating breakfast and applying makeup. She was truly a talented young woman!

Rotopax fuel and water cells keep Barley’s bed clear

We loaded up, mounted, and continued north. For a while we followed an old blue Harley that was making good time except at stops, where the rider seemed to have some trouble finding first gear. Pulling close for a better look, I noticed he had a suicide clutch, truly an impressive antique iron horse! Barley and I covered a lot of ground that day, but it was flat farmland for the most part with not much to talk about. Around noon we threaded the rural gap between Grand Rapids to the west and Lansing to the east, caught Highway 37 and rode north through Manistee National Forest. It was a pretty ride, but most notable for the hundreds of road kill, mostly woodchucks and young raccoons. Late in the afternoon we pulled into the Kesselwood campground near Cadillac, set up our tent, cooked some dinner and turned in for the night. As campgrounds go, Kesselwood was a good choice: clean, well laid-out, and quiet.

Antique Harley moving right along!

Long trains provided impromptu stretch breaks

Checking on Dad
FILE8426

Is it chow time yet? Camping at Kesselwood

Naptime at Kesselwood Campground

I’d chosen the Kesselwood Campground because it was located at the intersection of  Highways 37 and the very scenic 55, a forested road that would take us to the shore of Lake Michigan at Manistee.  It was a good starting point for an early morning ride, with the sun at our backs. Barley soon smelled water – and I noticed the expanse of blue on the GPS screen – miles away from the lake. But as we topped a rise where I expected our first look at the lake I saw not water, but an oil derrick. Just one. Solo.

One oil derrick all by itself

I smell water!

We entered the town of Manistee a few minutes later, stopping at a dead end next to the lakeshore. Barley did his happy dance and made a beeline for the water the moment I raised the sidecar lid. Lake Michigan’s shoreline was as beautiful as the other Great Lakes, crystal clear water lapping a shore of soft, sun-warmed sand. I let Barley explore until a strolling couple drew near, then called him to me and returned to the rig. The couple followed us. They had a golden of their own and needed a dog fix!

Couple getting a dog fix

North again, following the shore we rode through Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore up to Lake Leelanau, then east to Suttons Bay and back south to Traverse City. We rounded the south end of Grand Traverse Bay then angled north again with the magnificent lake always to our left. We stopped for lunch in the delightful town of Petosky, chatted with a friendly Triumph rider who looked – and sounded – just like Cheech Marin of Cheech and Chong fame, then continued north on 119 through the famous Tunnel of Trees.

Barley unimpressed by Sleeping Bear Dunes

Saying goodbye to Cheech

The Tunnel of Trees

The trouble with famous scenic routes is that once they achieve fame, they become clogged. The scenery was very nice, with some stretches nearly as pretty as the roads back home in Vermont, but the heavy traffic and distracted drivers took a lot of joy out of riding this one lane road.

Our next stop was Mackinaw City, situated on the south side of the strait where Lakes Michigan and Huron met. It was, literally, a crowded parking lot lined with souvenir shops and national chain stores. I grabbed a bite to eat, sat on a park bench to share it with Barley, then suited up and got ready to press on. It was then that a pair of teenaged girls, accompanied by a young boy, approached and politely asked if they could pet my dog. Watching the little boy hugging Barley, it was clear he wanted a dog of his own.

Paved Paradise

Do you think Grandma will let me have a dog?

Mackinac Bridge, commonly called the Mighty Mac, a magnificent suspension bridge spanning the five miles between lower and upper Michigan, is one heck of a ride! I stood up on the pegs mid-span to glimpse a freighter passing two hundred feet below. Barley curled up on his bed, completely unimpressed by the crossing. He roused himself briefly at the toll booth, hoping for a treat, then sank back morosely when none was offered. A few miles west on US 2 we pulled over for the night.

Wow, Dad – that’s a freakishly big bridge!

Crossing the Mighty Mac. The metal deck in the middle lanes lets you watch freighters pass beneath you!

Sorry, no dog treats

MICHIGAN’S UPPER PENINSULA

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

2014: Minnesota

Rural Pennsylvania and the Amish Country of Ohio

Fog ahead as we ride past the Trapp Family Lodge

Departure Day was foggy, with a dark sky that promised clouds when the fog eventually burned off. There was rain in the forecast to the south, but nothing we hadn’t dealt with before. I installed the ragtop on the hack, tucked Barley safely inside, and said my goodbyes. Tamara, my long-suffering BMW widow. Kazoo, my gentle giant who carried a slipper and made worried sounds. And Tulliver, my red dog, my Velcro dog, who had learned over the years that when the rig was packed like it was today, Dad was going away for a while.

We motored down our dirt road and turned right at the pavement, slipping past the still sleeping Trapp Family Lodge into the fog.

On our way down Trapp Hill Road

The rain began just south of Waitsfield, Vermont

Great little cafe, but we’re not hungry yet
Route 100 in a light drizzle

Showers caught us in Waitsfield, Vermont, less than an hour from home. I’d expected it, so had my rain liner in place under my protective gear. I pulled over to let Barley pee, then zipped the ragtop windows shut to keep him dry as we pressed on. The rain lasted no more than an hour, and shortly before we crossed into New York State it stopped. By the time we reached Pennsylvania the sun had come out; fluffy clouds scurrying past created patches of sun and shade.

The rain stopped as we crossed into New York State
Most people think New York City is all there is, but upstate is very different

Welcome to Pennsylvania!

By late afternoon we reached Tioga, Pennsylvania, gassed up, then took the dirt road that led to the camp owned by our friends, Linda and Dennis. Barley stalked frogs in their pond as we caught up on things.

Tioga Camp: Good friends ahead!

The next morning we were on the road shortly after sunrise, traversing familiar turf along PA 6, then angling southwest along rural backroads through the Alleghenies. At some point north of Pittsburgh we crossed into Ohio on a back road. There were no signs or welcome stations, just a change in the road markers. We switched to a state highway and moved west quickly, moving back to secondary roads when we noticed signs of the Amish.

Continuing west through rural Pennsylvania

We must be in Ohio by now…

Not many tourists come this way

We pull over for a break in a small town

During one of our rest stops I accidently bumped my left hand mirror sending it spinning around on its mount. I dug through my tools but as luck would have it, the wrench needed to lock it back in position was the one I had failed to pack!

By that point we were near New Philadelphia, which had a BMW dealer, so I plugged the address into the GPS. We arrived at Mathias BMW Motorcycles mid-afternoon. The staff took care of us immediately, refilled our water bottles, and wished us well. As we were saddling up to continue our way, a couple on his and hers Beemers pulled in. “Is that Barley?” asked the woman, lifting the front of her modular helmet.

While many seem to know my dog, few outside of Vermont seem to know me.

Mathias BMW in New Philadelphia, OH

We spent the night in Uhrichsville with a couple we’d met on ADVRider.com. We didn’t get to chat much as Mark, a police officer, was on duty till late at night and by that point both Barley and I had had the radish. With my medical background I had a connection with his lovely wife, as she was a nurse working full-time while studying to become a nurse practitioner. But she began to feel ill as the evening wore on, and eventually retired.

I have that effect on women.

Mark and his wife, both riders, put us up for the night

A morning huddle before hitting the road

We set out early in the morning, planning on exploring backroads in the Amish Country and ending up near the Indiana border. It was really pretty country! We found ourselves on dirt roads so narrow the brush often caressed both sides of our rig, populated by Amish who rarely see tourists so far off the beaten path.

Some roads were lined with dry brush

Others were lush and green

Women riding bicycles were commonplace

I was surprised by a couple of things this day. First, in addition to buggies, bicycles were a common mode of transportation. It was not at all uncommon to see people, the women with head coverings and long skirts, pedaling on the side of the road. The other was that not all Amish were averse to being photographed. None would pose, but many had no objections being photographed while working. It pays to ask.

Fair weather brings out the tonneau cover

Such a good riding buddy!

Pass slowly and at a respectful distance

By midday the weather was very pleasant, so I removed Barley’s ragtop and replaced it with his tonneau cover so he could feel the wind in his fur. This made him much more visible, and many of the Amish we passed laughed and waved. Even among the Amish, Barley was able to spread good cheer! Later in the afternoon, just before we turned onto a state highway to press west, we came to a T-intersection. I heard a delighted, “Awesome!” in a young boy’s voice, then six boys of elementary school age – all in Amish garb – raced out of a nearby house to check out the dog and his rig. “Awesome” was not a word I associated with the Amish before that day.

Farms were remarkably well-maintained without power tools

They might be insular, but the Amish were delighted to see Barley in his rig

The house of awesome!

Barley often watches me as we ride

Army Corps of Engineers projects like this dam are often paired with camp and picnic facilities

This campground and picnic area was linked to the dam above

We stopped for the night in Defiance, Ohio, had dinner at a local Mexican joint, then settled into our hotel room after checking the rig and covering it for the night. Barley curled up next to me on the bed, lay his head on my shoulder, sighed deeply and started snoring.

MICHIGAN, TO THE THRESHOLD OF THE UPPER PENINSULA

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

The Last Leg: Ohio to Vermont

The rest of the way home…

We didn’t need to depart before dawn. After the Western desert the conditions east of the Mississippi were quite pleasant, almost chilly.  There was no need to rush. But there comes a time in every trip where one feels the gravitational attraction of home. By the time we reached eastern Ohio I felt that pull quite strongly, so we scooted along secondary roads into rural Pennsylvania.

An Amish ATV

Amish vegetable gardens are marvels of efficient use of space
Rural Pennsylvania offers a restful pace

Unfortunately the knocking sound I’d heard from the sidecar on left turns over the last few hundred miles was not my imagination. Barley gave me his best “Are you crazy?” look as I made a series of figure eights on a quiet road in a small town, listening carefully to the sound echoing off the brick buildings on either side. Yup, rotational noise coming from the outboard wheel. I set a course for Freedom Sidecars near Selinsgrove; Claude Stanley and his crew are the best in the business, absolute gurus in the world of hacks.

Pennsylvania towns hug the road and generally don’t offer much in the way of dog attractions

Barley treated Claude like an old friend, leaning against him and telling all who would listen about his latest adventure. I love watching that dog interact with people, the smiles that blossom around him. Their attention soon turned to my rig, which was rolled into the shop and pushed back and forth while we crawled on the floor next to it, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. The outboard wheel came off, other parts removed, and by a process of elimination the team decided I had a bad wheel bearing. Claude also noticed that my final drive seal was leaking fluid.

Crap!

I called Max BMW, the dealer in Troy, NY that had cemented my relationship with the marque and was halfway between home and where we were at the moment. Replacing the seal was not a problem, but the wheel bearing was a big unknown. If I could leave the rig with them for a while they would press out the old bearing and find a replacement to match.

Next, I called my long-suffering wife, the woman who held down the fort while my dog and I explored much of the continent. She agreed to meet us at the dealer the following day. Barley and I said our goodbyes to the crew at Freedom and rode north to Tioga where Dennis and Linda again shared their camp with us. Dog lovers are the best!

Construction is hard to avoid in summer months

Tioga Reservoir: almost there!

Familiar turf: our friends Dennis and Linda once again offer us a place to relax

Neither of us slept very well. My thoughts were of homecoming, and I think Barley sensed that our journey was nearly over. We did manage to get underway in a leisurely manner, packing carefully and enjoying breakfast while waiting for the morning fog to burn off.

Just shy of eight o’clock we left Tioga on secondary roads, my dog and I, heading north to I-88, then following that scenic slab northeast toward Albany, NY. With home in my thoughts the excitement factor was high, and we made excellent time.

Gassing up for the last leg

Heading northeast out of Tioga on a rural Pennsylvania highway

First cut hay alongside the Interstate
The Interstate between Oneonta and Albany NY is quite scenic

But as we near Albany it’s madness, sheer madness!

We passed through the madness of the toll booth around lunch time, then navigated urban routes to Max, where we found Tamara waiting for us. Barley was crazy happy at the sight of his Mom, told her all about the trip, then jumped into the Prius and stretched out across the back seat.

Barley loves the staff at Max BMW and they are always glad to see him!

The long suffering wife was waiting for us

Three weeks. 8882 miles. A man and his dog…and the woman who loves them.

GO ON TO OUR 2014 ADVENTURE

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

HOMEPAGE

Nebraska to Ohio

A long day

Crossing the Missouri River in a light drizzle

We had holed up in a Roach Motel for the night somewhere northwest of Omaha, Nebraska. Around midnight it started to rain, nothing heavy – just steady showers. Once again rising early – this time to beat the morning commuter traffic past that big city – I zipped the waterproof liner into my riding pants, and elected to do the same with my mesh riding jacket instead of switching to my heavier and much warmer Rallye 3 jacket.

That turned out to be a mistake. While the lined mesh jacket was certainly waterproof, it was a short jacket that left a small gap between jacket and pants. Driven by the speed of our passing, the rain worked its way into my waistband and down my legs. The rain stopped an hour later shortly after we crossed the Missouri River, but by then I was soaked from the waist down. In fact, my boots were filled to overflowing and I could feel my toes sloshing every time I changed gears.

One of many delightful parks that dot the Plains and Midwest

One of the things I enjoy about traversing farm country in the part of the nation many refer to as Fly-By States is the fact that so many of the little towns that dot the landscape maintain municipal parks. As the sun came out we pulled into one of those parks. Barley and I played fetch to limber up, then I ducked into a structure to change into dry gear. The wet stuff went into a mesh laundry bag secured loosely to my topcase where the wind could fluff and dry it as we rode. Barley woofed a greeting; I turned around to greet our visitor. People out here are friendly, and it’s rare that Barley and I can stop in a park without strangers coming up to introduce themselves and welcome us to their town.

But this man was Bill Clinton!

It turned out he was not the former president, but he looked and sounded so much like him that I scanned the grounds for Secret Service agents!

There were a lot of bicycles on Iowa roads, and as we entered a small town under a RAGBRAI banner I realized we had stumbled into the middle of the annual bike race. Barley woofed greetings as we passed clusters of bikes, and the riders in turn laughed and called back to him. Later that afternoon we crossed the Mighty Mississippi into Illinois and pulled into a small rest area. Barley enjoyed the break. I enjoyed the fact that Illinois tends to dot their rest areas with information about the region’s history.

The Mighty Mississippi
Catching a nap in the shade of a roadside picnic table

We pressed on through fields of corn, soybeans, peas and green beans. Miles and miles of crops in a land where the highest structures are grain silos. We checked out enormous tractors at a John Deere dealer, tractors that dwarfed our sidecar rig. When we found our path blocked by a long train we took the opportunity to chat with the locals. We pulled over for a phalanx of state troopers escorting an enormous windmill blade.

Corn. Lots of corn
With the land so flat, grain silos could be seen for miles!

Railroad crossings gave locals the opportunity to introduce themselves
Farm equipment out here put our little 44hp John Deere to shame!
A huge blade for a wind turbine

Tuckered, we finally stopped for the day somewhere in eastern Ohio. Barley immediately fell asleep.

One tired dog!

THE LAST LEG HOME

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Crossing Idaho, Wyoming & Nebraska

The Heat Continues

Once again we were on the road early. Having witnessed some driving bordering on road rage the previous afternoon, I wanted to get out of Boise before the city woke up. Of course that meant riding directly into the rising sun for a spell, but with sparse traffic we covered a lot of ground very quickly. By late morning we were climbing toward the Wyoming border through scenic hills and some surprisingly productive high-elevation hay fields.

The heat built quickly as the day progressed
Greener, with more modern homes
Temps moderated the higher we went

21JUL_JacksonHoleArch
Pull over, Dad! There’s something I’ve gotta chew on!

Lunchtime found us in Jackson, Wyoming. We pulled into a strip mall and shared a foot long Subway ham and cheese, refueled, replenished the ice supply, and pressed on. Jackson was okay, but I live in a tourist town. After a few years you get pretty jaundiced to the whole tourism thing and just want to be away from it all. Besides, Barley seemed to consider the archway of antlers some sort of enormous chew toy. So we pulled out of town and pressed north toward the Grand Tetons.

21JUL_TowardGrandTetons2
The Grand Tetons
21JUL_TowardGrandTetons3
21JUL_TetonBuffalo2
Please don’t snarl at this one, Barley!
21JUL_GrandTetons3

The Grand Tetons were, simply, magnificent! The grandeur was such that I could overlook the hordes of tourists – including the enormous woman who told her teenaged son to take a photo of a narrative sign 75 feet away so she wouldn’t have to walk that far – but there was the not so little issue of free-range bison. As one gargantuan specimen crossed the road in front of us I throttled back in an attempt to sneak past, but Barley sensed the change in engine sounds and peered around the windscreen. One glimpse of the beast and he roared his challenge! Time to move on.

With haste!

21JUL_NorthOfTetons3
Looking for side roads north of Grand Tetons

We explored some dirt roads off the beaten path, shared a snack and some cool water, and enjoyed some quiet moments together. A few miles ahead I pulled over to examine my maps. Yellowstone National Park lay dead ahead. To go or not to go? We could spend two days exploring the park, but doing so would force us to take the Interstate the rest of the way home in order to be there before my vacation ended. I really prefer US Highways and secondary roads. In the end I decided Yellowstone deserved a trip of its own, and one taken in a less popular time of year. We turned east instead, refueling in the town of Dubois, Wyoming, where a very friendly woman named Darci fussed over Barley, thanked me for my service, and offered her brush to address my severe case of helmet head…before noticing my covering of road grime and retracting the offer.

A serious case of helmet head!

East of Dubois the terrain became more interesting, and the vegetation considerably greener. We passed homes that artfully incorporated their lines into the surrounding sandstone. It was still very hot, though. We learned that out West flowing rivers are marked by cottonwood trees lining their banks. We left the highway several times, the big GS Adventure muscling down dirt and sand roads to reach rivers so Barley could soak and hunt critters in the shallows.

So much straight!

Cottonwoods showed us where to find water

Trains out west are a LOT longer than those back home!
The Sand Hills of Nebraska were unexpectedly pretty

22JUL_EasternWYButtes1
22JUL_WyomingCattle
22JUL_NebraskaSandhills

There were very few cars on the road, and no big rigs or motorcycles. We saw one train carrying a load of coal somewhere, but by and large we were alone. Cattle were our only company, and they ignored us.

Around mid-afternoon we crossed into Nebraska, shared a meal in the town of Chadron, and while checking the bike I noticed my oil level could use a drop or two. I’d used the last of my synthetic oil back in Boise and neglected to buy another, so I used the iPhone to search for more. As luck would have it, there was a Yamaha motorcycle dealer just down the road. We fired up the beast and drove there, parking in the middle of a bunch of brand new ATVs. Spotting Barley, the sales team immediately came out to introduce themselves. Barley, when surrounded by excited people, gets a bit wound up himself. He launched into his vocal routine, ran in circles, then disappeared into the store. I could gauge his progress by the delighted laughs of the people he met. Just then I heard the not-so-delighted shout of a teenaged boy, “Hey, that’s mine!

Barley came running back to me with a disgustingly dirty jockstrap in his mouth, all the while making excited sounds as if to say, “Look at the treat I found!” Chasing him was the teenaged owner of the jockstrap…and the boy’s mother who was absolutely delighted by this turn of events. “How many times have I told you not to leave your filthy gym clothes in my office after practice!” she gloated. “It serves you right!”

She then offered Barley a treat “To get the taste out of your mouth.”

PAST THE GREAT RIVERS

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Homeward Bound: Salem to Boise

We left the fairgrounds in Salem at dawn on a chilly Saturday, heading east into the mountains. The mountains were, of course, a bit nippier than the valley, and our crossing through the conifer-covered highlands was punctuated by sometimes violent shivering. Knowing the desert lay ahead I was again too stubborn to pull over and add layers.

Heading east early in the morning

The temperature was still cold but tolerable as the sun rose higher giving me a view of the distant Sisters. Soil shoulders gave way to cinder, and the vegetation became more sparse. Barley, who had been curled up on his memory foam mattress, came to attention, his nose busily working a scent. A short time later I saw the golden arches ahead. McDonald’s. Barley loves their hash browns.

Barley at the drive thru: making sure I got his order right

A quick detour through the drive-thru, the tank topped off at an adjacent gas station, and we sat on the grass to share our breakfast. I studied the map as my dog leaned against me, the two of us contemplating the continental crossing that lay ahead.

The heat continued building as we got further east

We continued easting, the vegetation getting shorter and more sparse, the temperature rising as the humidity fell. Before long we were in the middle of the desert tailing a well-travelled BMW R1200RT, Oregon Highway 20 stretching absolutely straight in both directions as far as the eye could see. We passed abandoned weathered structures, small towns with not a single human inhabitant visible, miles and miles of flatness.

I often wonder about the history of isolated structures I pass
I wonder what it’s like growing up in a town so small and isolated

By late morning the heat was oppressive; we shifted into desert warfare mode, taking regular breaks, drinking water until we were both able to urinate before setting off again. Though I carried a couple gallons of water in a pair of Rotopax containers, I kept smaller bottles in the topcase cooler filled with ice. We both enjoyed the chilled water, and as the ice melted I would use a soaked washcloth to wet Barley’s chest and belly as well as my long-sleeved LD Comfort undergarments. Once we got moving again evaporative cooling would give us both a sense of relative coolness for half an hour or so. I would not pass a river without giving my dog the benefit of a quick dip.

Barley remounting after a water break. Fluids were essential as the sun was brutal!
Where there’s greenery, there’s water

The presence of water in the midst of this parched land always amazes me

By early afternoon the heat had us as parched as the landscape

As the humidity plummeted and the temp hovered around 104, I was beginning to wish I’d taken a different route, a cooler route, but looking at the map I wasn’t sure exactly where that might have been. There was no shade save that under Barley’s ragtop, no option short of pressing on. I continued to be amazed at the presence of fairly large rivers in a land so parched! It seemed like every drop of water should have been sucked up by the thirsty land! We crossed into Idaho and rolled into Boise at the height of a very aggressive rush hour. We’d both had enough by that point. I used my iPhone to find a cheap hotel with air conditioning. Got the dog comfortable, checked the bike, brought our stuff inside and joined Barley next to the AC.

ON TO WYOMING AND NEBRASKA

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Salem, Oregon

The 41st Annual BMW MOA Rally

It felt great to wake up surrounded by new friends, but in the way of BMW riders we quickly packed up, said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways. Barley and I continued north along the coastline passing through towns built up, but in a funky ‘60s style that was often silly but always fun. The town of Bandon, however, was a gem that beckoned us to pull over and rest.

With HR only allowing three weeks off (no matter how much time one had on the books), there simply wasn’t enough time to explore. We must come back someday!
Delightful Bandon, Oregon
One of Oregon’s many quirky coastal bridges designed by Conde Balcom McCullough
A mountain of wood chips in Coos Bay

By noon we had reached Coos Bay, a town I remember for the largest pile of woodchips I’d seen in my entire life! So this was where all those long trainloads of pine logs ended up! An hour later we passed through Florence where the highway was flanked on both sides by dozens of franchises. We reached Lincoln City – our northernmost point of interest – by 4 p.m. The plan had been to turn around at that point and return to Florence, then head east several miles to stay with Larry, one of the adventure riders from the forum who had offered to come to our assistance when we had the blowout a few days earlier. But Barley was not himself, so I pulled over at a small park and began to examine him. The inside of his left ear was bright pink; the absence of any odor told me it was not the fungal infection that plagues long-eared breeds but some other cause. There was no sign of insect bites, no inflamed lymph nodes, no fever. As I clicked off the possibilities it looked more and more like he was having an allergic reaction to something.

What’s changed? I asked myself. And then it hit me. Back in Wyoming Barley needed a refill of kibble. Unable to find his normal brand I purchased whatever was available. That was a bad decision on my part. Find dog food, I instructed Siri, then plugged the address provided into the GPS and off we went. A couple hours later we were settled into a local hotel. Barley had been treated with Benadryl from the veterinary medications we carried, had a bowl full of high grade lamb kibble, and quickly settled down to sleep off the meds while I logged onto the Internet and let family and friends know where we were.

Susan, a total stranger who worked in Salem Tourism, was monitoring Facebook postings about the upcoming rally. She read my post about Barley’s ear and sent me a private message containing contact information for three local vets she trusted with her own dogs. Once again I was touched by the kindness of strangers…

We made it, Little Bug! (Photo by R. Giroux)

Long Distance Sidecar award winner for 2013 (Photo by R. Giroux)

We arrived at the rally Thursday at 8 a.m. One glance at Barley and it was instant Sidecar Delay Factor! It was clear that my dog had far more online friends than I did, and each wanted to say hello. Barley was at his vocal best, cheerfully greeting his admirers, instinctively avoiding people who were not fans of dogs. When we reached the front of the registration line I presented our membership cards to the volunteer behind the table. He looked at the cards, then at us, and burst into laughter. Yes, Barley is a card-carrying associate member of the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America! (The online application asked for age and gender, but not species.) I got my wristband, and Barley his collar band, and off we went to find a place to pitch our tent.

We ended up in front of the Pavilion Building next to Dave and Liz, two other Vermonters. Our tent is a Nemo Losi 3P; the large size allows Barley to dream without clawing my back. It looked tiny next to our neighbors’ Redvert, however, and I had a brief moment of tent envy. It was sort of like living in a condo when your neighbor has a mansion! With the tent set up and our gear stowed inside, I dialed the number of the closest vet Susan had recommended; they had no open appointment slots. Barley was not in acute distress, however, so we would just have to knock on doors Friday morning.

And then I turned to the vendors…

Vendors from all over the continent! We don’t have this sort of selection in Vermont!
I’m drawn to sidecars for some strange reason

Back home I’m three hours away from Max BMW, the fantastic dealer I trust with all my part and service needs. It’s moderately large, but there is simply no way they can match the quantity and variety of farkles and apparel one finds at the rally. Riders from big cities are spoiled by mega-dealers, but those of us from rural parts of the country find ourselves drooling as we pass through the vendor areas!

Barley, however, was under the influence of his morning dose of Benadryl, so I limited the initial foray to the inside vendor area. In short order I found the good folks at Schuberth and asked about replacing the nearly three year old SRC that had failed back in Pennsylvania. They replaced it on the spot under warranty, no questions asked! Service like that creates lifetime customers.

Outstanding customer service keeps me coming back to Schuberth helmets

Next came Coach Stroud’s seminar on long distance riding. It was packed with great information. Barley groggily accepted greetings from people in the audience as I took notes. On the way out we ran into Larry, the Web friend from Florence who had offered help when we were in trouble, then Duncan and Mary, the couple from Hood River, and finally Eric and Amy, a couple who had sold everything and were roaming the country on their Beemer. I’ve heard the MOA Rally described as a gathering of family you’ve never met before, and for me that pretty much fits. I cherish the annual gathering of friends new and old.

Shortly after sunset Barley had had enough, and we retired to our tent. I took notes in my trip diary to the sound of an excellent band competing with trains, my dog visiting a neighbor before falling asleep at my side.

Barley woke up this poor hungover gent by sitting on his chest

Friday morning we awoke, ate breakfast, took care of business, then loaded up the sidecar and set out for the closest clinic listed by my GPS, the Orchard View Veterinary Center. It looked closed when we pulled up, however. There were no cars in the lot, no lights visible through the tinted windows. I hesitated in the parking lot, wondering if they operated on bankers’ hours…then the doors burst open and three laughing women in scrubs ran over to fuss over Barley. Many thanks to Dr Chris Liscomb and her crew for getting us in and confirming that it was, in fact, an allergic reaction and not an infection.

And of course Barley got several treats!

Oh Dad! Susan has fingernails!

Back at the rally, I checked out all the vendors had to offer. We have one tiny dealership in Vermont and the owner, a surly man, has driven me and several others away with his oft vulgar words and dour attitude. So for me, the chance to see all the vendors and their wares together in one place was a special treat! For Barley, it’s a huge socializing opportunity. He was able to meet Susan, the woman who had helped him find a vet, and tell her all about his big adventure! He provided dog fixes to riders who had left their pets at home and needed some snuggle time. He went ecstatic over butt scratches from women with long fingernails that could work their way past his undercoat and make him grunt with joyous satisfaction!

Barley soaking up affection from a young man who needed a dog fix

And then he met David Petersen of Best Rest Products. Dave was a nice man, but he had one thing going for himself that placed him, in Barley’s mind, above all other men at the rally. Dave’s display tables were covered by tablecloths that provided a neat appearance as well as covering the bulky boxes beneath. Those tablecloths were held in place by mini bar clamps. And on the end of those clamps, probably to protect people from injury should they run into them, were tennis balls.

Barley loves tennis balls!

While Dave laughed uproariously, Barley retrieved every tennis ball he could reach, essentially dismantling the display. He stood there wagging happily, holding a prized ball in his mouth with a foot of clamp sticking out to the side. Dave took pictures…and eventually even got his clamps back!

Barley stealing tennis balls

We met Duncan and Mary – our new friends from Hood River – for lunch, attended a few seminars, shared a dish of ice cream, then snuggled up inside an air conditioned building while my iPhone recharged, courtesy of an unused outlet. Mid-afternoon is a good time for a nap.

Barley is a remarkable dog, a perfect blend of joy and loyalty. I take moments now and then to tell him so, to curl up on the ground and pull him close to me, to caress his face or rub his tummy and tell him in a gentle voice how proud I am of him. He wags happily, with his entire body, and meets my gaze directly. I often see people who own dogs, but share nothing with them. While they get loyalty in return, as that is the nature of a dog, they will never experience all that the bond can be, and that impoverishes both of them. Barley is not a fashion accessory, but a cherished part of my life. He knows that, and it makes us both the richer.

Sucking up to people in the chow tent
Most of the time it works. Notice Christine’s spotless plates

“May I pet your dog?” This delivered in that high-pitched sound of delight that Barley finds irresistible in women. He play-bowed, then practically dragged me over to greet his new friend. We meet Chris and her husband, Bruce, as well as Chris’s friend, Kathy and her husband, Mike. Clearly Chris was not going to let us go with a handshake, so we retreated into the beer tent and got to know each other. While we talked, Barley practiced The Look. Chris, Bruce, Kathy and Mike all fell for it. Those big brown eyes staring so intently make food fall from plates like magic! When their food was gone he spun around and stared at a man eating a burger at the adjacent table.

The Look doesn’t work on everybody…

We said our goodbyes and moved on. I pulled out my iPhone and checked the weather. A large storm front south of us was going to reach the Great Plains about the same time we did, if I stuck to our original timeline. The storm was big enough that, if caught, we would be riding in rain from Kansas to Pennsylvania. That didn’t sound like much fun.

I made the decision to leave one day early in order to outrun the storm. We would be home before I learned that Barley and I had been awarded the Long Distance Sidecar award at the closing ceremonies.

HOMEWARD BOUND

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

The Pacific via Crater Lake and the Coastal Redwoods

Since we’d lost so much time with the blowout, we left the city of Eugene on Interstate 5. It was a strange feeling running south on a ribbon of concrete that could have taken me all the way to within a few miles of my childhood home in San Diego. But we veered off at Highway 58, making good time till we came up behind a pack of extremely slow Harleys who would not let anybody pass.

Taking the less traveled National Forest roads afforded us a lot of tranquility

One of the advantages of riding a dual sport bike is the ability to take roads that bikes designed purely for pavement wouldn’t dare. Oregon is blessed with scenic Forest Service roads; most are dirt or were paved so long ago that they might as well be dirt. Forest Service 21 led us through a scenic wonderland of beautiful reservoirs, streams cascading down steep rock faces, and mountains. Many, many mountains.

Scrambling up a gravel incline

The big BMW was in its element, rocketing down the straight sections, pulling power slides around the gravel switchbacks, and taking ruts in stride. By standing on the footpegs with knees flexed I was able to ride in comfort. Not so Barley, who was rattling around inside the hack like the ball in a can of spray paint. I tried to justify the pace with the thought that we had a bit of catching up to do, but I could feel the Hairy Eyeball searing into the side of my helmet after just a few miles. At twenty-five miles Barley was openly glaring at me, but still I pressed on. Finally, after seventy-four miles of fantastic dirt roads, we turned onto pavement and Barley’s mood improved. A short time later we entered Crater Lake National Park.

Back on pavement, we reached the park entrance

There were no tent camping sites available, said the ranger. The primitive campground to the east had been closed, and the privately-run campground to the west catered to RVs. Major bummer; we would just have time to take a lap before setting off in search of a place to stay for the night.

As with other places, Barley was not impressed with the scenery

Our first view of the lake came at a scenic overview almost immediately after we reached the crest of the crater. Having seen the destructive power of Mount St Helens, I was completely in awe of the power it must have taken to blow a hole six to nine miles in diameter and more than a thousand feet deep in the top of the ancient volcano upon which we stood!

15JUL_CraterLake5

Barley was more impressed by pretty women who scratched his butt.

We made it!

We rode around the crater, my dog and I, stopping for photos, snacks and water here and there, but the lack of campsites meant we couldn’t linger. I felt we had a good shot at reaching the redwoods in northern California if we hustled, so we headed out the south entrance and turned toward Grants Pass, Oregon on Highway 62. Again, we ran into a group of Harleys doing 35 in a 55 zone. They seemed oblivious to our presence behind them so after giving them several minutes to remember their road manners I began picking them off one by one, generally passing as we exited corners. They seemed to be particularly fearful of curves.

We made good time once we passed the rolling roadblock, but by late afternoon it was brutally hot and I began to think reaching the coastline was not realistic. When the ambient temperature exceeded Barley’s body temp, I called it quits. There was a nice hotel on the banks of the Rogue River in the town of Shady Cove. We refueled, got a room, unpacked, showered, walked across the road to get dinner, walked back to our room and ate a leisurely meal. A few minutes later the group of cruisers we had passed south of Crater Lake showed up and checked into the room next door. One of them nodded at me as I covered the rig with a small tarp. “You scoot right along in that thing,” he said.

I took it as a compliment.

We awoke to a few raindrops early the next morning. Standing next to my bike I looked up at the sky and lamented aloud that it wasn’t even enough rain to wash the bugs off. In the adjacent parking spot the Harley rider from the night before was shocked by my comment. He had been diligently wiping every raindrop off his chromed beast lest they leave water spots behind. “What we have here,” he sighed, “is a different philosophy of riding.”

A fundamental truth, that.

16JUL_ORTunnel2CA1
We pass through a tunnel and into California

Back on the road. We reached Grants Pass, Oregon by seven o’clock and shared breakfast at McDonald’s. (Barley loves their hash browns.) By nine we passed through a tunnel and found ourselves in California. An hour and a half later we reached the Jedediah Smith Grove of coastal redwoods. The plan was to set up our tent and spend a leisurely afternoon playing among the giant trees. We pulled up to the campground entrance. A sign on the ranger’s kiosk read: NIGHTLY BEAR INCURSIONS.

Crap!

Those pesky bears!
Do you honestly expect me to behave when bears are in the campground?
Barley sulking at being denied the opportunity to bite a bear
The Jedediah Smith grove of coastal redwoods

It was a very nice park, with the scenic Smith River meandering through a grove of magnificent coastal redwoods. It would have been an awesome place to spend the night, but Barley quickly picked up bear scent and I knew, given his prior offenses, that he would become Cujo that night should we elect to stay.

Barley got to pee on a redwood!

So we pressed on, reaching the Pacific Ocean at Crescent City, California by noon. We pulled over and took a stroll on the broad sandy beach, me tossing and Barley joyfully retrieving his favorite ball. He showed no interest in the ocean, but expressed his delight of the beach by rolling happily in the sand.

Playing on the Pacific shore

North to Oregon and a series of small towns spaced along the shoreline every twenty-five miles or so. Some were all about overstated tourism with shoulder to shoulder national franchises, but others were delightful assortments of small independent businesses framed by fantastic scenery.

Barley loves women with squeaky voices!

In mid-afternoon we pulled onto the broad quay of a fishing town and found a small group of BMWs parked near a tiny seafood diner. Nearby a huge crane lifted a fishing boat out of the water and placed it carefully on a trailer. A truck pulled the boat to a cluster of others. Lacking a protected harbor, the town’s fishing fleet was launched – and recovered – daily by crane.

Bringing in the day’s catch…and the boat!

“Is that Barley?” asked a booming voice. It was Randy, a fellow adventure rider I knew from the Web, and a few others bound for the rally. He fussed over my dog for a few minutes then turned to me. “And who the hell are you?”

Everybody knows my dog. I’m just the driver…

We sat on the seawall getting acquainted, chatting about road conditions and our respective bikes, sharing the excitement of the upcoming rally. I asked if they knew of any decent campgrounds in the area.

“We’re right down the road at Humbug State Park,” came the reply. “There’s plenty of room; why don’t you join us?”

Bonus!

Randy and friends lead the way to a campsite at Humbug Mountain State Park
Barley helping with the dishes

Humbug was a very nice campground tucked right off the highway. It was treed, walking distance to the beach, had plenty of firewood and immaculate facilities with hot showers. Bottles of local beers appeared from topcases. We sat around a warming fire trading brews and snacks far into the night. Randy turned out to be a sucker for Barley’s big brown eyes, and shared most of his food with the dog. By ten o’clock we all turned in for the night.

ON TO THE BMWMOA RALLY

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

An Unplanned Stop in Eugene

The online Adventure Rider community is tight-knit, though most of us have never met. Even so, the forum is a place to share adventure plans, to appeal for technical guidance, to arrange to meet fellow enthusiasts as you ride through their turf… and on the forum there is a history of total strangers dropping everything to come to the aid of a fellow rider in trouble far from home.

That community spirit would come in handy on this day.

Duncan, a fellow sidecarist on the forum, and his wife invited Barley and me to breakfast. Always delighted to meet new people and pick their brains about our shared interests, I accepted. The diner was an immaculate and very dog-friendly place tucked among artsy stores in Hood River. Barley, on his best behavior, ducked under the table and laid on my feet. I listened raptly as Duncan described a car tire modification to his rig, along with a narrative of his installation woes. He and his wife asked about the route Barley and I would be taking out of town, and offered some excellent suggestions on more scenic routes. One can pour over maps and online resources, but nothing beats the advice of local riders. As they talked I took careful mental notes.

They described the town and pointed out some local history on the way back to our hotel, where we said our goodbyes and made plans to meet up at the rally in a few days. Barley and I went in to pack up our belongings, fill up our small ice chest, and load the rig for the day. I checked voice messages on my iPhone and found one from another adventure rider who lived in the area.

Jeff and Shelly leading the way on lesser traveled roads

Jeff and his wife, Shelly, were going our direction and would be waiting for us at a wide spot in the road near a town I’d never heard of. No matter, it was on the way. We set out on the scenic route Duncan had described, hoping it would pass the spot where Jeff was waiting. It did, as luck would have it. Shortly after I got my first glimpse of Mt Hood, I spotted a pair of dual sport motorcycles at the side of the road. Jeff and Shelly, a thirty-something couple, were waving a greeting.

Barley enjoys few things more than a butt scratch from a pretty woman, so he was soon leaning into Shelly and happily telling her all about his grand adventure! And when he gets going his vocals are truly inspirational! There wasn’t much time to talk as they had to be somewhere soon, but again I got some excellent route advice before we set off, Shelly leading the way. After several miles they signaled for a left turn and waved for us to continue straight, so I waved goodbye in passing and we continued alone.

Taking a break on a National Forest Road

We left the pavement at the point they had described, and headed past Timothy Lake on a dirt Forest Service road. After a break in the shade of a majestic pine grove we continued several more miles to pavement, then turned south through sparse pines toward the volcanic peaks known as The Sisters.

The Western Cascades are marked by volcanic activity

When I was a kid growing up in San Diego folks paid a lot of money for red volcanic rock. They used it for landscaping, sometimes for footpaths. And here we were in Oregon riding through miles and miles of the stuff! The terrain looked like NASA photos from Mars, save for the occasional conifer struggling to survive. It was surreal, beautiful, desolate. It was also very sharp, too sharp for Barley’s unprotected paws, so we stayed on the road and safe in the sidecar.

A Dutch tourist indicates his approval of my navigator
The road was great, the shoulders not so much

And what a road it was!

I love curves! On two wheels I will happily drag footpegs for hours. On three wheels it’s more of a physical workout (due to the inability to lean) and also a more technical ride. I also have to be prepared for sudden changes should Barley spot a rodent. Still, I managed a few power slides coming down the incline into the valley below. We had a blast! It was also getting much hotter as we shed altitude, and once the road leveled off I pulled over to let Barley play in a stream.

Blowout in McKensie Bridge

Ten minutes after we got back underway I was doing 65mph on a straight section of road when I heard a muffled POP and the rig became instantly difficult to control. I am a religious checker of mirrors, so knew without looking back there was nobody behind me. I also knew that I’d lost the rear tire, and instinctively stood up on the footpegs and leaned forward and to the right to lessen the load back there. No brakes, roll off the throttle smoothly, arc to the left where providence has placed a small church with a large parking lot. It’s afternoon, and the lot is empty as we lurched to a halt.

Dismounting, I stared at the ruined tire, then cuddled Barley and gave him some cool water from the ice chest. We sat on a rock and share a granola bar, waiting for my pulse to return to normal. A few minutes later we walked over to check the rig. Barley sniffed the tire and looked disgusted. If the pannier hadn’t been in the way he probably would have peed on the rig. We were in McKenzie Bridge, Oregon. Small town. No services. Sunday afternoon.

It was not looking good for the home team…

I’m not sure why I did it, but this year, before leaving on this trip, I signed up for the Good Sam Club Platinum Plus program. In the way of insurance I never expected to use it, but figured the modest introductory payment was worth it simply for peace of mind. I pulled my membership card out of my wallet, tapped the Where Am I function on my GPS, grabbed my iPhone and called the toll-free number.

“Are you in a safe place?” was the first thing the woman on the other end of the phone asked me. Not my name or my membership number. “Are you safe?” I liked these people right away. I gave her all the information about my location, the type of vehicle and nature of the problem, and the fact I was traveling with a dog. She told me I should expect a flatbed truck in half an hour. Fifteen minutes later she texted me pushing the ETA back another forty-five minutes. After texting Duncan a quick note of our situation I gave Barley a few treats and refilled his water bowl, then hunkered down with my Emergency Snickers Bar.

Chocolate helps in these situations.

Right on time the flatbed arrived. Randy, the driver, quickly winched the rig aboard and strapped it down securely. Barley got the back seat while I rode up front with Randy. He had come all the way from Eugene, nearly sixty miles away, and that’s where we were headed. It was a fun trip, not exactly how I intended to travel, but his running commentary on the region was entertaining and educational. He even dropped us off at a hotel right across the street from a tire store, a very nice gesture.

It was brutally hot by this point, so I checked into the hotel, fired up the air conditioner, got Barley situated in the coolness then began schlepping all the stuff into the room. We were in downtown Eugene, just a block from the Greyhound station, which to my mind meant drunks and derelicts all over the place. I had visions of everything not locked up being stripped from the bike, and only the flat tire would prevent the entire rig from being stolen. But downtown Eugene proved to be a remarkably nice place, full of friendly people, clean… not at all the stereotypical downtown I expected. And when I checked the forum I found several offers of help from total strangers! Duncan had broadcast our plight to the Adventure Rider forum and several were offering help in the form of a place to stay, help changing the tire, and even a trailer to transport us wherever we needed to go! I reassured all those great people that we were okay, and had things under control.

We had dinner and slept well, Barley and me. In the morning we walked across the street and into the tire store the moment it opened. They wouldn’t help! They did not do motorcycles. The fact that I had a car tire on a car rim made no difference. The Firestone corporate policy was that they would not touch any tire unless it was on a rim and a vehicle for which it was designed. Cowards! Scratch Firestone products from my list of approved suppliers!

About a mile down the road was a place called the Tire Factory. They had the tire I needed in stock, and had no qualms about mounting it to the correct sized rim no matter what that rim was bolted to. Roy, who had a pronounced Robert Duvall thing going, got me right in. In fifteen minutes we were heading back to the hotel with a brand new tire!

ON TO CRATER LAKE, THE REDWOODS, AND THE PACIFIC

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES

Lolo Pass, Rainier & Mt St Helens

Thursday the eleventh of July. We’d been on the road a week. This would prove to be a very tough desert transit, but one that would set us up for an easy ride the following day.  We had Friday reservations at a campground in Mount Rainier National Park, so had to make good time if we wanted to do more than fall asleep in the lee of Mount Rainier. I elected to stay on I-90 to Missoula; we left Livingston, Montana, at five in the morning.

A stiff headwind started with the sunrise and gained strength throughout the day. That resulted in significant steering resistance; I had to muscle the handlebars all day and by the end of the ride had had a pretty good upper body workout! There were only a couple moments of levity on the road this day. The first came as a small Pontiac overtook us on the Interstate. The thirty-something African-American woman driver smiled at us as she slowly passed; in the back seat her kindergarten-age son waved frantically. I waved back and he went practically delirious with joy, high fiving himself as his mother laughed. The second came when a woman and her minivan full of girls – elementary through high school age – found us at a rest stop and gave Barley all the loving he could handle.

Lolo Pass was a construction zone – aaargghh!
Dealing with construction delays by soaking in the nearby river
Construction delays gave us time to play in the river

Past Missoula, the hills surrounding Lolo Pass gave us some protection from the incessant wind, but the legendary pass was a collection of construction zones, with chip seal being applied to fresh pavement. We lost over two hours waiting for pilot cars to escort us around the highway improvements, and the ride was hot, slow and extremely dusty. We took a few breaks in the nearby Lochsa River to shed excess body heat, but it was tough going. By the time we reached the Nez Perce Reservation in Idaho the temp had reached 99F and the scenery was unfailingly brown and dry. It was very strange to see such large rivers flowing freely through miles of dead terrain.

Water and dust on the Nez Perce Reservation

Another stretch of Interstate straight into the wind. At eighty miles per hour my mileage fell to an all time low of 19.3mpg. I suspect the additional sail area of Barley’s ragtop had a lot to do with it, but keeping him out of direct sunlight was worth it.

We pulled into the Roadway Inn at Sunnyside, Washington late in the afternoon. It was clean, had high-speed WiFi, plenty of ice, cold air conditioning and was close to food. While the night clerk was coldly efficient, her counterpart in the daytime was wonderfully friendly and simply adored Barley! She even got him to talk!

I woke up at five o’clock on Friday, but let Barley sleep late. The heat of the previous day had been tough on him, and though today would be a short day he had no way of knowing that. If I pushed him too hard it would stop being fun, and if the dog ain’t havin’ fun, ain’t nobody havin’ fun! We hit the road at seven, for the most part sticking to the speed limit. Washington and Idaho have very conservative speed laws. Wyoming and Montana set them much higher and allow drivers to select what they consider a reasonable speed, generally lower than the limit. Interestingly, I saw no difference in driving habits between those states. With a 75mph limit, drivers in Wyoming and Montana drove 70-75mph. With a 65mph limit, drivers in Washington and Idaho also drove 70-75mph, speed limit be damned.

We drove through terrain that was completely brown save for irrigated vineyards and groves of fruit trees, passed several fresh fruit stands that regrettably were not open at this hour, and caught our first glimpse of Mount Rainier before nine o’clock. After an hour of climbing through increasingly green and cool mountains we reached our destination: Ohanapecosh Campground. It was simply lovely!

First glimpse of Mount Rainier
What a magical place!

I watered Barley and groomed him, gave him a treat and tucked him under the picnic table while I set up the tent. Inside went my insulated pad and sleeping bag. When I returned with Barley’s memory foam mattress I found him curled up and sound asleep on my bag. Exhausted, I curled up on his mattress and napped next to him. A couple hours later we woke up and took a short walk around the campground to stretch our legs. We noticed three young women on their hands and knees washing their exceptionally long hair in ice cold spring water. The spigot was only a foot off the ground, not high enough to keep their hair from dragging in the dirt. Each golden mane was a tangled mess of leaves, dirt and small pine cones. Nearby were several buckets meant for carrying water to drown campfires. I pointed to them. “Why don’t you use the buckets to rinse each other?”

The looks they gave me told me they clearly had the situation under control. We moved on.

Barley asleep with his ball

Ohanapecosh was a very nice, peaceful campground. Sounds of nature surrounded us, punctuated now and then by the lingering sounds of loud pipes on cruisers and the occasional big bore pickup truck. I had stubbornly resisted changing out of my hot weather mesh riding gear after entering the park, and as a result was chilled to the bone. With patches of snow here and there, the tree-shaded campground was cold after the desert! I was grateful for the layers of clothing I’d brought, but worried about keeping both of us warm overnight.

The mountain chill felt good at first, coming after several days of desert transit

With our campsite nicely organized, we walked toward the sound of running water. Reaching the river, I was stunned by how clear and blue the water was! A nearby sign explained that rivers fed by snowmelt, like the one we stood before, were crystal clear while those fed by glaciers were milky-white from sediment created as the glacier ground over the land beneath.

Clear water comes from snow melt while milky water comes from glacial melt

At six o’clock a truck bearing firewood made its rounds. I bought two bundles and quickly got a warming fire going. I fed Barley, after which he curled up near the fire and fell asleep…until he noticed me preparing my own food. I had carried a military MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) for the past four years for emergencies and decided this was a good day to see how it compared to the old C-Rations of my era. The packet contained a foil pouch of minestrone stew, another containing a chicken filet, a plastic-wrapped petroleum-based pseudo-fudge brownie, and a condiment pack. The gum, matches and toilet paper were unchanged from my generation. The gum was still rock hard. A moist towelette had been added – a nice touch. There was no coffee, but there was sodium-free seasoning, cocoa, iced tea and apple cider. And M&Ms reduced to chocolate powder with colorful flecks.

But the taste of it all was only a marginal improvement over C-Rations.

Darkness fell as did the temperature. I slipped into my summerweight sleeping bag and pulled Barley close, then covered us both with a military-surplus insulated poncho linger. It was plenty warm.

We woke up at five the next morning, but the campground did not. I started another warming fire with the last of the wood, got my JetBoil stove going for the morning oatmeal, and started breaking camp. We ate breakfast together, Barley and me, then packed the rig and drowned the fire. By seven o’clock we were riding up Stevens Canyon Road toward Paradise, Washington.

The road was bordered by dense forest, but there were places where the road followed the edge of a cliff that offered fantastic views. We saw many hikers and climbers, in fact, nearly every pullout was choked with the cars of people out on the trails. It was one of the things that really impressed me about the Pacific Northwest; folks don’t just look at the scenery, they go out and experience it!

Rainier up close was surreal! Broad-shouldered and majestic, its slopes still covered with deep snow crisscrossed with ski and snowshoe tracks, it towered over everything within sight. We continued down Stevens Canyon Road to the town of Elbe, then turned south bound for the east side of Mount St Helens. The road was fun and fairly technical in places, requiring a lot of body English from both Barley and me on some of the curves. But the forest is close to the road, and the trees very tall, so there wasn’t much in the way of scenery. As we climbed higher I began noticing tree tops snapped off, just the portion of trees that rose above the crest. Then we rounded one last curve and stopped…

Notice the missing tree tops

Nearly every tree has been laid flat, their desiccated trunks bleached by the sun. Those that remained upright were nothing but spikes reaching toward the sky. Shrubs and a very few small trees struggled to survive in the nutrient-poor volcanic ash that covered everything. We pulled into a parking lot at a scenic overlook to read a Forest Service sign. It took me a few seconds to realize that the large grayish flat area in the valley below was the dead remains of Spirit Lake, still choked with floating logs thirty-two years after the eruption!

Spirit Lake covered by thousands of tree trunks years after the blast!
Barley was fascinated by the view of a lake full of so many big sticks!

To our left was Mt St Helens, an ugly, malevolent volcano missing the side facing us.

The missing north side of the volcano

Retracing our path, we left the forest and turned south, then southeast along some dirt logging roads. It was hot and dry, and we raised a huge cloud of dust behind us. I slowed down to lessen the dust for any hiker or mountain biker we passed, and by the time we reached the small town of Trout Lake it was miserably hot. The Grange Hall was serving Mexican food as a fund raiser, so we stopped for lunch. Raised in the southwest, I’ve always loved Mexican food. When I moved to Vermont a couple decades ago I was dismayed to read that Taco Bell had won the award for Best Ethnic Food two years in a row! While that situation has improved somewhat over the years, I rarely pass up an opportunity to sample the real thing.

Crossing the Mighty Columbia River

We continued south, and if anything it became even hotter and drier as we neared the Columbia River Gorge. Again I was struck by the incongruity of a massive river in the midst of brown, lifeless land. We crossed the mighty Columbia on the Bridge of the Gods, paid our toll, then turned left and rode Historic Highway 30 to The Dalles, Oregon where it was so incredibly hot we turned right around and headed back to Hood River. Unfortunately, Hood River is a tourist town and had several events happening that weekend. Too hot to camp, I found only one hotel room available within fifty miles. It’s a suite with a built-in Jacuzzi, and way more than I wanted to spend, but it was also the only room in town. I plopped down the credit card and offered Barley first shot at the Jacuzzi, but he was overheated and simply lay down in front of the air conditioner.

GO ON TO AN UNPLANNED STOP IN EUGENE

BACK TO OUR ADVENTURES