Uncle Phil - West 2009 Day 07

West 2009

Day 07

September 2

We get a 'foo foo' breakfast over at the motel, but it's not too bad. No pig meat or hen fruit, but at least they have gravy and biscuits and I snatch a bit of yogurt. There's a couple of guys at the next table and I strike up a conversation with them, since I could probably carry on a a discussion with a fence post. When I tell them that we're headed for Mitchell, Oregon for the evening, one of them gives this look and says

"Why are you stopping in Mitchell?"

"Well, it was about right on the mileage" I tell him.

He just shakes his head and he's from Oregon. Now I'm wondering what I've got the group into, but it is what it is. Then Al and I get into a spirited discussion about getting the Washington State line sign, since he knows one we will be passing. But having done this a bunch of times, I prefer to go with the one I know which is just a little out of the way. The key for getting a good sign shot is a safe place to pull the bike off, not much traffic, and a place to stand without getting run over while you're taking the picture. I've been at it enough to know that all signs are not created equal, so I determine I'll go with the one I know to be safe.

Soon we're on the road again, and the morning is pleasant as we finish up highway 12 into Lewiston. We seem to be past the construction so we can get back to rocking along the sweepers and enjoying the beautiful Northwest scenery.

The river once again becomes a welcomed companion, as the roadway just follows the natural cut through mountains.

But the closer we get toward Washington, the more brown the hillsides become, almost as if they refuse to partake of the nourishment of the river that flows so graciously at their feet.

I see my turn off up highway 95 that allows me to run to the top of the mountain where highway 195 intersects. The amount of altitude you reach quickly on this climb is pretty startling as you look out over the guardrail. I have tried 'off route' excursions to get a state line sign to a minimum this trip, and this is one of them. But it's still a nice ride so nobody seems to mind.

The Washington sign is right where I left it the last time I was here, so I get my shot and we head back to a spot Al calls the "corkscrew", which is turns out to be the old road down the mountain.

We follow Al and Deb down a turnoff that I always thought was just a scenic overlook, so I never explored it. It does give you an incredible view of the area and a great photo op.

Ever the photography hound, Dave spends time to get a great shot of the view before him.

Then Al points out the 'corkscrew' that we are about to ride down. It looks like a piece of spaghetti that some mad man threw down the side of the mountain.

"Al, I never knew about that road. I've seen the turnoff but just figured it led you to the overlook then back up to main road. I had no idea about the old road leading off the mountain."

Once again, local knowledge has opened up a road that would be overlooked by anybody just passing through.

And what a hoot it is to ride - butter smooth pavement, practically no traffic, and just turn after turn after turn.

It almost makes me sad when we finally reach the bottom and head for the heart of Clarkston, just north of Lewiston.

Just outside of Lewiston, we stop for a break and regroup time. There's a dog taking a lady for walk, and he's beauty. Rue is an Akita/Husky mix and a really sweet boy and he condescends to let me pet him. I tell her

"I used to have blue-eyed Siberian Husky and they are really smart dogs."

Rue looks up at me with the wisdom of the ages and nods his doggy head in agreement. But time is passing by, and we've got to be moving on.

Another lady is keen about riding with us, until she asks how we all met up. With a straight face I tell her -

"Well, we're all actually serial killers that met on the Internet."

For some reason after that she decides that she will let us ride on by ourselves, and we do.

Frost is being on her best behavior, so I determine to go for the whole route, as we talked about last night. We decide it will be best if I keep at least a half tank of gas until I get the fuel pump replaced, so we have an 'official' strategy. Highway 129 up out of town is a sweet piece of pavement with panoramic views of the high desert and plenty of bends to keep your interest.

I still am amazed at the arid hill sides, dotted every now and then with a few small green trees.

There's a great Oregon sign and this will be an easy 'twofer' since

Washington is on the back side. So I snag another picture just for good measure.

Nothing like great hairpins and great pavement and this road has plenty of both.

You begin to realize that this rugged place is not where a feller wants to go stupid and run off the road. If you did, they could just put a marker up, because there would be nothing left of you or the bike but small pieces by the time you landed at the bottom.

.As we make our way down highway 3, we pull into the Joseph Canyon Viewpoint. Joseph Canyon is a 2,000+ feet deep basalt canyon named after Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce tribe.

The Joseph Creek flows through it, then into the Grande Ronde River, which then flows into the Snake River and then into the mighty Columbia and on to the Pacific Ocean.

But the temps are rising, so we get back on the road. There's a heat haze in the distance that engulfs the mountains as they rise up to greet us.

Enterprise makes for a good gas and heat relief stop. It gives us an opportunity to remove any layers that we don't need. One of the biggest challenges on this trip is the extreme variations in temperatures in any given day and trying to keep a balance between being hydrated and having to stop every 50 miles for a hydraulic break.

And about the time we getting rolling again, we hit another construction zone. Since it looks like this one will take a while, I just shut of Frost to let her cool down and hopefully breathe a little more life into the ailing fuel pump.

While we're waiting, I look off to the left and holler at Dave -

"Hey check out that truck over there. Moff never told us he was in the trucking business."

Moff (his last name is Moffet) is one of my dearest friends from the UK who came over with Dave the last time he came to the states. We have also all ridden together in Scotland back in 2006 and he took Guy and I back into London on our first trip vie Stonehenge. He really would have liked to come along on this trip but circumstances prevented him.

Soon we are past this and moving into the next small town. Al had warned me that we had to all turn left at the Chevron and I do my best to note that.

But somehow my brain must have been enjoying the scenery far too much, so I whizz right by and never see it. Al takes out after me, Dave and Andy. I'm just pressing along at a good clip, just as clueless as a goose in a snowstorm as to what just happened. Al finally catches me and reels me back in. But at least we get to see this beautiful lake that would not have otherwise seen.

With Al's patient help, we finally get back on the right road. It turns out to be a national forest road, but fortunately it is somewhat paved. Often they are gravel and sometimes not very well maintained. This one looks like Bubba and the 'Hit or Miss Paving Company' worked on this one as it winds its way through the tall conifers to the Hell's Canyon overlook.

When we stop at a viewpoint for Hell's Canyon , I notice there is a ST1300 and another ST1100 parked there. I know a lot of the ST riders, so I look for fellers wearing one of those funny space suits we all wear. Turns out it is Ed from ST-Owners.com, AKA OldWingit, and his friend Dennis. They are headed in the opposite direction from us but decided to stop at this overlook also. I jokingly tell Dennis (who is riding the ST1100 like me) -

"Well, at least you are riding the right kind of bike!"

We all laugh, since there is always give and take between ST1100 and ST1300 riders. Both are great bikes, so it boils down to what suits you the best. I share with Dennis my fuel pump problems and he gives me a bit of really good advice -

'When we passed the entrance to the canyon, it was over 100 degrees. You probably don't want to go in there if heat causes the problem."

"Well, discretion is the better part of valor, so I believe I'll take your advice! I reckon I'll see you in the funny papers" I him with a grin as I make way back to the group.

I'm slowly beginning to get the idea why the canyon has the name that it has.

When I get back to where Al, Deb, Andy and Dave are standing, I share with them what Ed has told me.

Al says "We were going to try to talk you out going in there. It's a long hot ride in and out unless you get there early in the morning. Glad you made that decision."

"Well, thanks again for getting me out of trouble again, Al" I tell them.

Once again I have benefited greatly from riding with folks that know the area and the things to be watchful of.

We mount up and proceed the long descent into Baker City after we leave the forest road. It's a good road with lots of sweepers and I'm having a great time. I come up on a red Hummer putting along at about 50 so I signal a pass and blow around him - - not too close and I'm careful not to come back in too quick. But evidently I have offended this local Mario Andretti and he gives chase - but not with much success. (Dave later tells me that the Hummer was doing 80 in the Bends trying to catch up with me). Unfortunately, traveling at these speeds, I use up the gas quicker than I intend to and trouble rears her ugly head. Frost starts sputtering and missing again, a signal that the fuel pump is getting hot. I try to keep her running as best as I can but as I top a rise, a semi just pulls straight across in front of me then slowly lumbers out of the way. Frost almost dies when I have to grab big handfuls of brakes, but fortunately I can recover and continue to limp on into town.

The first place we come to that has gas I wheel it in. I tell the group

"Well, the gremlin is back. Let's take a long break here. Maybe the bike will cool off."

We fuel up and then pull away from the pumps. After talking it over. I decide that I'll try to keep the tank over half full until I can get to Don's and maybe it will behave until then. I figure while I'm waiting, I'll give Don a call and see if by any chance he has a fuel pump laying around. When he answers, I ask him

"Is this Dr. Cortez's ST1100 junkyard service? I sure could use a fuel pump if you've got one."

"I've got one left and I'll hold it for you" Don tells me.

"Well, I reckon all I need is one so that will be great. Would you by any chance have a right hand mirror?"

"Sure. It's not for sale but you can just order me a replacement" .

"Well, I sure can't beat that with a stick".

We talk a little bit about our upcoming stay with him and the lovely Miss Joyce.

"There's some folks that are coming over to meet you when you get here."

"Now Don" I tell him, "Why in the world would they want do that?"

We both laugh and talk about what he has planned. Don and Joyce are special friends to me and I know whatever they have lined up will be top notch - not to mention he's bailing me out of a big crack with the fuel pump. I determine that I will work our travel plans so we can get to his place as early as possible.

"Well, I reckon we'd better be getting back on the road. I'll see y'all in a few days."

Hopefully, Frost has cooled down enough now and will behave since the temps should be a little nicer. She fires right up like nothing is wrong, and we make our way out of Baker City in short order.

I know as we head into higher altitudes, the temps should cool off. I look down the road longingly at the mountains we are headed for.

But it sure seems like the whole state of Oregon in under construction.

As we get past one construction zone ....

only to hit another one ...

then some more open road until ...

we hit another one. And so it goes for the rest of the day.

The closer we get to Mitchell, the more interesting the scenery gets. It seems they just carved the road right out of the hillsides.

But the temps do get much nicer and we seem to have left the construction zones finally behind us.

When we arrive in Mitchell, population somewhat north of 150, I can't locate the Sky Hook Motel visually. It looks like the main drag is off the highway to the left, so we wander down into town.

We stop outside the only restaurant there, a nice feller comes out. I explain to him that we're looking for the Sky Hook Motel and he directs me right to it. As I pull off, he asks Al -

"Are you coming down for super? If so, I'll tell my wife to kept the place open until then."

Al makes the executive decision to say yes and for that I am later thankful.

When we see the motel sign, I'm really wondering what I've got us into. When you book places, it's always a best guess and I'm a bit concerned I have blown it on this one.

So we make our way on up the hill to the main house. The owner, John, checks us in and you couldn't ask for a nicer feller. He remembers my name - but then most folks remember Derryberry - and gets us set up with our rooms.

When I open the door and go in, what a lovely surprise I find. This is one top notch place, with all of the comforts that a traveler could want, including a full kitchen.

There are beautiful wall hangings, lots of comfy quilts and rugs. I tell Andy -

"This would be a great place to base out of if you were planning to ride in this area very long."

And besides all of that, Mary the cat, is walking around surveying her kingdom. I really think that she is the owner and just lets the humans run the place because she has more important things to do ...

like finding the one human among us that does not like cats and sitting as close to him as she can. Perceptive little creature I reckon!

Since this will be the last evening Al and Deb are putting up with us, she hands off the bag of smoked salmon for me to deliver to Don, as Mary the cat carefully watches. I am afraid that Mary may confiscate the package for further inspection since it is her place after all, so I quickly store in our refrigerator.

After we get pitched, the lady of the place tells us about a plank across the creek that will make our journey a little shorter to the restaurant. But in a few minutes she returns and encourages us not to use it, after thinking about it. When she leaves I tell Dave -

"I think she figured out our net weight and decided we'd probably break it!"

It's nice a little walk down the hill to super with Al leading the way. I notice that there is actually another motel in town, which is a bit surprising to me.

They have mostly burgers, fries and pies at the Little Pine Cafe - so what else could a feller want? I order a double bacon cheese burger and it comes with half of the state of Idaho's potato crop. I look at the group and announce -

"Heart attack special on a plate. At least I will die with a smile on my face!"

And it tastes even better than it looks!

And of course Dave requires pie like any decent feller should after consuming enough cholesterol to instantaneously clog your arteries. He is such a unrestrained feller about pie that I am afraid he will eat the saucer and all. And not wanting him to feel alone, I force myself to order some chocolate pie just to be sociable. Ah, the risks we take for our friends ...

One the way out I meet the town cat who is a bit persnickety about any being petted by strangers. So I leave her to her own devices as we waddle back up the long hill to the motel.

Not only are the rooms excellent, but they have a bunch of the old metal lawn chairs that have a nice springy action. We pull a full compliment out on the front lawn overlooking the town to watch the stars come out while a gentle breeze cools us after a long hot day.

Soon the moon rises, not to be confused with the other glowing orb at the bottom of the picture.

Al and Deb have not decided as to which way they will be headed, so they think they will probably sleep in a bit. Dave, Andy and I decide we'll try to hit the road about 7 since we're headed to the coast. The company is excellent, the stomach is full, and the eyes are getting heavy. So I wish them all a good night and go to my room to succumb to the forces of the rack monster.