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"Road Trips" by The Old Squid
"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the
Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you may be
swept off to."
Bilbo Baggins
Bonneville, Part 1
The World’s Fastest Old Squid
posted 10/02/2007
Last spring I vowed not to let work interfere with riding. I rode to
the John Day rally and loved it. I planned at least one long-ish trip a
month. Then summer intervened and suddenly there was more work, a shed
to paint, a meeting to go to, and a lawn to mow.
One evening, tired
from the day, I broke out a movie a young friend had given me: "The
World’s Fastest Indian." This is a true story about a New Zealand
resident, Burt Munro who in the early 1960s takes his 40-year-old
Indian motorcycle to the Bonneville Salt Flats to see how fast he could
go, to try to set a speed record.
The movie is a wonderful tale of
stubbornness, human kindness, and invention. As I watched the story
unfold, I remembered that some friends mentioned that they were going
to Bonneville to watch this Motorcycle Speed Week event. Then I thought
about the fast Honda in my garage. I’d played with it on lonely streets
and briefly got it up to 150 mph. What would it really do with room to
run and no traffic or deer to watch out for?
I thought about an epigram
I’d been working on: "When I was a kid, I regretted the things that I
tried and got caught for. Now that I’m older I regret more the things
that I never did because I was afraid to try." How fast would the Honda
go? There was only one way to find out!
My friends were leaving Wednesday morning. It was Tuesday. I had
money, gas, and a good set of tires… and 24 hours to pack! The Honda is
not a dedicated touring bike so I’d have to pack carefully. No hard
luggage hangs on her flanks. Instead I load soft saddlebags that carry
far less and a duffle bag strapped to the seat behind me for the rain
gear and long boots and gloves I’d need for the speed runs on the salt.
I told my friends that I’d catch up with them in Bend Oregon and headed
out on the 10:25 ferry. They left on the 8:00. Every journey in Friday
Harbor begins with a single step... onto a ferry. After an errand in Mt
Vernon I truly started the trip and headed to stay with friends in
Wenatchee. This was an easy day, 200 miles and after Stevens Pass, not
much traffic.
I fold my body into the modified racing crouch that the Honda requires
and realize that it’s been a couple of years since I’ve been out on
this bike for a long ride. It’s pretty hard getting on and off this
first day. It reminds me that I still have a little post accident
stiffness. At least that’s my excuse; it can’t just be old age can it?
After all, this bike is my Fountain of Immaturity! None-the-less, I
seem mighty creaky when I get off at the (more and more) frequent rest
stops along the way.
Of course it’s also summer so I sweat in my protective gear. I’m
wearing full face helmet, gloves, boots, armored jacket and pants and
it’s in the 80s on the outside of the clothes! I muse on this as I
ride along. At what point will we cocoon ourselves in safety gear so
that the fun of whatever sport we’re involved in is lost in the
discomfort of what we feel we have to wear? This is not pleasant but
the fun of the ride still barely outweighs this so I keep it on.
A few
days later, the temperature was up another 10 degrees and the gear will
be safely strapped to the back of the bike where it would be protected
in the event of an accident:-/ Part of the joy of motorcycling is the
feel of the liquid air with all of its textures and variations flowing
over you as you ride along. Sometimes the joy of feeling this is worth
leaving the safety cocoon. Sometimes it’s not. I compromise and unzip
the jacket and let it flap on this first day.
The air goes from hot to
cool to hot and then smokey as I climb to the pass and then descend on
the east side of the Cascades. A thick plume of smoke rises in the
distance. This is summer and it is the west so of course it’s on fire.
The second day is better for the stiffness. I’m getting used to the
bike now and I ride south down Blewett Pass, Yakima, Goldendale and
into Oregon. I stop at the "ghost town" of Shaniko on highway 196.
Really, this is a tourist trap and all the self-respecting ghosts have
moved to quieter locations but the town is here and has functioning
services and I needed a break.
I sit on the wooden porch of an old
western type building, a modern cowpoke with my trusty black steed
parked at the hitchin post in front. I’m havin that classic western
drink, a tropical smoothie when an old timer sitting in the shade of
the porch strikes up a conversation with me. He asks knowledgeable
questions about my bike and tells me about the 750 Honda he owned back
in 69.
He’s sitting in a walker with an oxygen bottle strapped to the
back of the chair and a breathing tube to help him out. We swap some
more tales and he reveals that he’s only 68, just a few years older
than me but miles from me in mobility! All journeys have to end I think
as we talk and I watch a thunderstorm walking down south towards where
I think my road goes. I’m hoping that mine lasts longer than his, at
least the riding part. I bid the old-timer good-bye and wish him well
as I hustle off to beat the storm down the road.
For the first 10 miles I think I’ll miss the trailing edge of the
storm but suddenly the road veers left. Splat… SPLAT, SPLAT! The
occasional drops become more frequent and finally it's really raining
but it's warm still and I can see the end of the rain as if through a
purple curtain over the next hill. This feels good after the heat of
the Yakima valley and I know that I’ll dry quickly so I just keep
motoring on.
Just before the town of Madras the thin curtain suddenly
thickens like magic and I’m thoroughly soaked. The traffic is slow
because the traffic lights are out. So are the rest of the lights but
this doesn’t register on me as I hunker down and keep moving as best I
can.
Instead of crossing away the cloud sags along the road all the way to
Redmond. Spray, dirty spray, is kicked up by the 18-wheelers. Lights
are out in Redmond too and I see a shower ahead so I pull into a
Safeway to get out my rain gear and have a cup of coffee. To stay dry
while I change, I bump up on the sidewalk and pull the bike up under
the overhanging roof. I tuck in behind a decorative column and get off
the motorcycle.
I take my helmet off when, suddenly, a blast of hail
laden wind whips around and almost takes the bike over! I grab it and
quickly pull it up on the centerstand as rain gushes down and thunder
cracks in the same block. The wind whips back and forth pummeling
people as they run to a car. A 10-foot journey leaves them as wet as if
they had just gone for a swim! I’ve never seen rain like this.
The next
thing I expect is a funnel cloud as I sit and hang on to the bike. I
duck into the store and even under the overhanging roof enough water
comes in to soak me in my short sprint. The store is dark save for
emergency lights. Suddenly all of the traffic lights being out made
sense as the storm rolled by. It had snuck up from behind me and I
hadn’t noticed it in the rearview mirrors. I’d been focused on the
little showers ahead and hadn’t seen the sullen sky racing to catch me.
Suddenly, the rain stops and I cautiously poke my nose out and make the
last few miles into Bend a quick sprint. I don’t know what I would have
done had I been caught riding in the first blast of this front. I’m not
even sure that riding would have been an option. That night I stay with
my sister in Bend and see more lightning in one evening’s storm that
the past decade in Friday Harbor. From a covered porch this is
beautiful and I’m reminded of how little "weather" we have on the
islands. I miss these storms… but only when I’m on that covered porch!
To be continued...
- The Old Squid
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