The long way north

When I left Mark's house Thursday morning, my goal was to reach Coos Bay. I could go straight up Highway 101 for about 220 miles or I can take the long way getting there. You've got two guesses which way I went, and the first doesn't count.

Once in Arcata, I turned inland on Highway 299 and rode to Willow Creek where I gassed up. I then turned north on Highway 96 through Hoopa. There is a section of 96 that was carved out of the cliffside that is very dangerous. The road is narrow, the turns are tight, sightlines are abrupt or absent, and it would be a long way down if you went off the road. Although I gave those curves a run for their money, I remained within my abilities and the conditions and made it through without incident.

Highway 96 follows the very scenic and rugged Klamath River, usually from high up the canyon walls. The sun was shining, slow traffic was practically non-existent, my bike was running well, and I enjoyed the ride very much. Eventually I was in the small town of Happy Camp, a place I have visited many times before, and stopped for a much needed snack. I then rode north on Indian Creek Road.

Soon after crossing the unmarked border back into Oregon, I stopped at a construction zone and chatted with the flagger for several minutes before heading back down the hill. At the junction with Highway 199 I turned northeast and rode into the busy town of Cave Junction for fuel and lunch. The Dairy Queen was busy and as I ate my lunch I saw numerous bikes, mostly large cruisers, rumbling through town.

I mounted back up and headed southwest on 199. I waved two people on sport bikes past me, but was soon parked behind them at a construction zone. I had my iPod running and couldn't hear anything they said but somehow we managed to communicate with each other that they would lead and I would attempt to follow them. It was a man and a woman, and I noticed she had a sticker on the back of her helmet that said, "You were just passed by a girl." Although I couldn't determine the brand and model, their bikes looked to be in the 600 cc supersport category. Both riders were dressed in black leathers and appeared to know what they were doing.

Once we were allowed forward, they soon began to pull away in the straights. I don't like to ride more than 10 mph over the speed limit, so I assumed I wouldn't see them again. After three or four corners, however, I was riding up the tailpipe of the woman -- the man was riding in front of her. They both stuck their knees out and leaned into their turns, which looked impressive, but their cornering speed was at least 5 mph slower than mine. I began to get frustrated because the road surface was pristine, sight lines provided excellent through-the-corner visibility, and all conditions allowed fast cornering.

She noticed that I was really pushing for faster speed, so she waved me forward. I waved thanks as I rode past and was soon tailgating the lead rider. He had more impressive form and was slightly faster in the corners, but again my surprisingly flickable V-Strom was exceeding his ability or willingness to corner faster. After a half dozen corners he waved me past as well, shaking his head as I rode by. He gave a friendly wave, however, so I waved back, gave a short beep-beep on the horn, and zoomed ahead through the rest of the route to the coast.

I reached Highway 101 just north of Crescent City and began the long slog north to Coos Bay. There was a head wind and a fair amount of slow traffic, which combined to make it a tiring leg of the day. I stopped at a rest area overlooking the wind-chopped ocean below and took a quick break. Soon I was back on the road and made it into Coos Bay at 5:30 pm. I had been riding since 8:00 that morning and clocked 370 miles for the day. I was exhausted but happy.

Dinner was again at the Blue Heron, with a different entree of course. I slept well. The next morning I took the shortest route home: North to Reedsport, east to I-5, then follow the freeway all the way home. Riding the superslab at 70 mph was just as tiring as the zigzagged 370 miles I clocked the day before ("My butt never hurts unless I'm riding in a straight line.") I got home safely, however.

The total trip included 3,400 miles over 11 riding days, crossed into British Columbia, Canada, and touched Washington, Idaho, Oregon, and California. The northernmost point was Lillooet, BC and the southernmost was Mad River, California. The farthest east was Lewiston, Idaho, and of course the westernmost point was the Pacific Ocean.

Trip Day Two: Yreka, CA

Sunday May 31 - 5:59 PM - Yreka, CA

Dinner was a shredded beef enchilada with a unique savory spice from the Puerto Vallarta restaurant in Yreka, California. There are two Mexican restaurants within a block of the Super 8 Motel, and the Vallarta was the recommended choice according to the gal at the front desk when I checked in. When I asked if there were any good restaurants for breakfast within walking distance, she shrugged and with a resigned look on her face, said, "Dennys." I decided to purchase my breakfast in advance from the Ray's grocery store across the street and pick from the motel's continental breakfast selection.

7:04 am, Klamath Falls, Oregon

I did't sleep very well last night. There was a prom going on in the hall across the street and the air conditioner in my room was effective but noisy. Wearing ear plugs to bed is not uncommon on my trips and I've grown accustomed to the necessity. Sleep came to me at 4 am and departed at 7 am. I got up, dressed, and walked down to the lobby of the Maverick Motel to see what their continental breakfast had to offer. Very little. Packaged pastries organized in clear plastic drawers akin to what you'd find in a scrapbooker's craft room, a large stainless pot of coffee illegitimately labeled 'regular', and packets of instant oatmeal.

[caption id="attachment_373" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Maverick Motel"][/caption]

After a waking shower, I packed my hard cases and mounted them on my bike. The forecast said it was supposed to be in the low 50's but the actual temperature had me forming a sweat. I stripped off my biking pants and took out the cold-weather liner from my jacket. The Chevron station from the day before wasn't busy anymore but it still took the attendant several minutes to come out and hand the pump nozzle to me -- a lame legal requirement in Oregon. Once my tank was full I headed southeast toward West Klamath.

It took some driving around but I finally found my way to the Klamath Memorial cemetary. My goal was to visit my Mom's cremains. Unfortunately they are interned in the chapel which is only open on weekends by appointment only, and appointments can only be made during regular business hours Monday through Friday. I'll have to visit her some other time, I guess.

Highway 66 connecting Klamath Falls in the east with Ashland to the west is known as the Green Springs Highway. It runs through a mixture of pine and oak and finishes with a dramatic and nauseatingly steep and twisty descent down to Ashland. I felt no ill from the delicious turns, feeling like a slalom skiier instead, and was surprised to see several bicyclists climbing the step and winding grade. Once in Ashland I pulled into the Wild Goose Cafe for some biscuits and gravy, two eggs, and sausage with the requisite cup of coffee. The waitress was intrigued by my chosen route for the day, twisty and circuitous, and warned me about forecasted thunderstorms. I thanked her for the warning, and although I never saw any raindrops on my ride I did see the effects from previous deluges -- gravel washed into the roadway from over-run ditches.

My GPS put me on I-5 northbound but my butt only gets sore when I ride in a straight line so I pulled off and took a two-lane route westward instead. I passed through historic Jacksonville and remarked to myself just how quaint and 'historic' the town felt. Subsequent towns were Ruch, Applegate, and Murphy. I was thankful I had chosen that route. The road was in great shape, the turns were pleasant, and the scenery bucolic.

Once I reached Cave Junction I pulled int the Chevron and told the gap-toothed but pleasant attendant, "Fill, regular." He smiled and pointed at the pump, "Go for it. I'll hang out in case you need help." We chatted a bit as I filled my gas tank, and when I asked if he knew how to get to Happy Camp, he said, "Oh, yeah! Go down this road about a half-mile, turn left, take the first right, then just 'head into the hills.'" He leaned back and gave my bike a good up and down glance, then followed it with, "You'll do fine." I wonder what he would have said if I was riding a Harley.

His directions proved true and I relied on my GPS for the remaining route. As the road got narrower and steeper, I noticed a distinct lack of clear cuts. Living near the Mt. Hood National Forest I have begun to take them for granted. I stopped at a wide spot on the side of the road and took some pictures of the bike, the view, and the road. Before long I was at the summit and crossed from Oregon into California, marked only by white letters spray-painted onto the pavement. It was a quick descent down the 9% grade and before long I found myself in Happy Camp, California.

I didn't find it to be that, exactly. I pulled into the small market and drank a pop from the vending machine under the front awning's shade.

[caption id="attachment_376" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Happy Camp, CA"][/caption]

As I watched local residents come and go I kept expecting to hear banjo music in the background. I noticed a large grasshopper across the road and took its picture, doing my part to help that poor starving giant insect get rich and famous.

[caption id="attachment_377" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Giant grasshopper"][/caption]

My GPS said to head east on Highway 96, and I'm very thankful I took its advice. 96 isn't quite as diverse or challenging as 36, its parallel cousin to the south -- and tomorrow's ride -- but it's faster and has its own flavor equally worthy of remark. Law enforcement seems to be completely absent and the cagers are slow but polite -- several pulled over to let me pass, something I've only experienced in northern California. The road follows the Klamath River, scenic and very popular with anglers and rafters. The temperature had risen quite noticeably and I was thankful to ride at 65 mph through all but the tightest turns. The bike performed wonderfully and I really felt like I was in the zone.

I got to Yreka at 2:30, almost the exact same as my previous day's arrival in Klamath Falls. 8:30 departures and 2:30 arrivals seem to be consistent for me on my trips. My room at the Super 8 is twice as large as my lodging at the Maverick last night, I have free wi-fi in my room, and it only cost $56. The town itself is definitely not much worth looking at, however.