Guy's Weekend

I was invited to attend an annual guy's-only weekend at a cabin outside of North Powder, Oregon. I went two years prior with my buddy, Mike. Although he drove there with others in a pickup truck, I rode my V-Strom solo via my own more circuitous route (see end of this post for maps).

For several days leading up to my departure, Oregon had a lot of precipitation and low snow levels. The pass at Government Camp had packed snow on the roadway and temps in the upper 20's and lower 30's Thursday, the day I left. I backtracked into Gresham, then road I-84 east to Cascade Locks where I crossed the Bridge of the Gods to SR14 in Washington. There had been a rock slide at Dog Mountain so I had to wait about 10 minutes for the construction crews to let us pass. I took this photo looking south across the Columbia River toward Oregon.

I crossed back over into Oregon at The Dalles and had lunch at Casa El Mirador. Dos enchiladas, pour favor ... muey bueno! I topped off my gas tank and headed south through the heart of Oregon on highway 197. This stretch of road passes through alfalfa and wheat fields covering rolling hills and wide open spaces. It passes by the town of Dufur, which is a common turn-around spot for me on a favorite day loop. Riding through Tygh Valley 197 climbs back up one hill then back down again into the small but busy rafting town of Maupin, which straddles the Deschutes River.

I often stop in Maupin for a quick snack but this time I kept riding. Instead of continuing down 197 I hung a sharp left once across the river and headed up the winding hairpin turns of Bakeoven Road. It takes me to Shaniko, the next town on my journey, with far less traffic and arguably better scenery. The weather was great for riding and I had a pleasant blend of puffy clouds and blue skies to enhance the view across the grasslands. Between Maupin and Shaniko is very little, but the sparse landscape has its own beauty.

In Shaniko I turned south toward the tiny hamlet of Antelope, then east on state route 218 toward Fossil. This is one of my favorite roads in Oregon. There's hardly any car traffic, the road surface is in great shape -- although there can be gravel on curves -- the scenery is fantastic, and it has a nice blend of challenging and rewarding curves. It's also long enough that I feel like I get my money's worth out of the ride. I stopped at the Clarno Unit rest area and trailhead of the John Day Fossil Beds for a quick break, set up my mini-tripod down on the ground, and took this photo using the 10-second timer. Self-portraits are one of the hassles of my solo riding style.

I had enough gas to last the rest of the day's ride, but it's better to be safe than sorry when traveling the sparsely populated roads of eastern Oregon. I stopped at the two-pump gas station in Fossil and fueled up, then continued onward. State route 19 took me into the cowboy town of Spray, which sits above the John Day river. As I passed through I saw several real cowboys filing into a local cafe for lunch, their hats so wide they barely fit through the doorway. The next tiny town I passed through was Kimberly.

I was feeling thirsty and in need of a break so I stopped at a visitor's center at one of the John Day Fossil Beds locations. About two miles later I hit the junction with highway 26 and turned left, eastward through Dayville and into Mt. Vernon. I had originally intended to camp at Clyde Holliday State Park in Mt. Vernon, but after pulling into the park and checking it out, I decided to continue on to John Day and get a motel room at the Best Western.

The next morning, after breakfast at The Outpost restaurant next door, I continued east through Prairie City, then northeast over Dixie Pass before cutting north on state route 7 past Bates and Sumpter. The weather was slightly cooler but still dry. Eventually I made it to Baker City where I stopped for a late 'second breakfast' as a Hobbit might say. The homemade corned beef hash at the Oregon Trail restaurant really hit the spot.

Once fed, I headed north on highway 30 through Haines before turning west toward Anthony Lake. Leaving the farm and ranch land of the valley, the road enters the timbered Elk Horn mountains. My GPS guided me expertly to the gravel side road that took me to the cabin and my destination.

The cabin is without electricity, other than through the use of a small generator, and sits on 80 acres with a decent sized creek. There is a spring so running water is available. This particular weekend is for gentlemen only, and I use that term loosely. Sort of the whole point of the occasion is to get our cussin' and scratchin' and fartin' out of our systems before we inevitably have to return to our wives and girlfriends and jobs and civilization in general. To protect the guilty, I won't go into too much detail about what goes on, but I will touch on a couple of noteworthy highlights.

One of the main attractions was the presence of a rather large John Deere front-loader. Tracy, an older man who retired after spending 30+ years working such large equipment, expertly used it to load rather large stumps and logs onto the campfire.

Another guy, Dave, brought a homemade rock crawler in the back of his work van. Opportunity is where you find it, and once he unloaded the vehicle he used the empty space as a weather-proof location to pitch his tent. I, however, wasn't as fortunate. I pitched my tent the old fashioned way, and was rather proud of how it looked with my bike parked next to it.

The temperature dropped into the upper 20's during the night, no doubt aided by the fact that the cabin sits at around 4,500 feet elevation and rests at the bottom of a valley (heat rises, cold air descends, etc.) I managed to sleep pretty good considering the circumstances. I awoke a little after 5 am and relieved myself, then put some more wood on the fire to get it going again before crawling back into my warm sleeping bag for another two hours of shut-eye. Eventually the whole camp was awake and well fed with a breakfast of venison sausage patties and bacon, scrambled eggs, rosemary spiced potatoes, and coffee. While most of the other guys got fishing gear ready and set off for nearby Pilcher Reservoir in pursuit of some fat rainbows, I broke camp and loaded up my bike, eager to get my gear stowed before threatening clouds dumped rain.

My timing was perfect. After saying goodbye, I mounted up and headed down the quarter-mile dirt road onto the paved highway and down into the valley below. As soon as I emerged from the timber rain drops began falling. I had off-and-on rain for the next 30 miles as I retraced my route back into Baker City. I gassed up then stopped again at the Oregon Trail restaurant for a lunch of chef's salad and coffee.

By 1pm I was heading southwest on state route 7 past Sumpter. At Bates, 7 meets highway 26 where I began climbing toward the top of Dixie Pass. It began to rain -- hard. Then it began to drop snow mixed with the heavy rain. Slush formed on my face shield and I had to wipe it off every 5-10 seconds with the thumb of my gloved left hand. Thankfully the road surface was only wet and not frozen. The air temperature was dropping with every foot I climbed up the mountain pass and I began to worry I'd run into freezing riding before cresting the pass.

Fortunately, however, I reached the 5,200 foot summit and started dropping down the other side before the weather had a chance to get truly dangerous. I think Mother Nature knew I won because the clouds spread out and the precipitation petered out. By the time I reached Prairie City I had mostly blue skies. There was a bit of wind buffeting me from the side but I made it back to John Day safely and without further incident.

After another night's stay at the Best Western -- in the same room I had Thursday night -- I set out toward home Sunday morning. This time I took a slightly different route. Instead of heading west on 26 through Dayville and then north on 19 to Spray, I went north on 395 to Long Creek then west through Monument where I got back on 19 in Kimberly. The rest of the route was the same until I got to Maupin. This time, rather than north to The Dalles and around Mt. Hood via the Columbia River Gorge, I headed west on highway 216 then over the pass at Government Camp. I returned home to Sandy under beautiful blue skies in what turned out to be a fantastic Spring day of riding.
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Wet and dark commute

I woke up around 3:30 am and couldn't fall back asleep so I decided to get up and go to work early. It was still dark when I mounted my V-Strom and pulled out of the garage. Soon I heard the pit-pit-pit sound of rain hitting my face shield.

It was a dark ride into work, and wet. I had fairly heavy rain most of the way in. As I was riding, the thought occurred to me that I was no less comfortable than if it was 43 degrees and dry. The only difference when it rains is visibility gets reduced slightly.

I put lemon Pledge on the outside of my face shield to shed water. Ironically, I can see better when riding in the rain using that method than I can in my car with the wipers going! I also rub shaving cream on the inside of my face shield to prevent fogging. It works like a charm.

Spiders

I was taking a shower this morning before work when I happened to glance upward. In the corner of the wall and ceiling I saw a very long-legged spider presumably doing some web work. I've been to many campgrounds and have taken showers where spiders were present, but never in a position to drop down on me and do its best Little Miss Muffit impression.

It made me nervous.

I'm not normally afraid of spiders, although I do have a healthy respect for their ability to ruin an otherwise good day. I once walked face-first into an orb weaver's lair while hiking. Having a face full of spider web was creepy enough but I quickly realized I had my mouth open at the time and could feel the little guy dancing around on my tongue. They say animals are more afraid of us than we are of them. I doubt that.

Like I said, I'm not normally afraid of spiders, especially when I can see them coming. But seeing one hovering around above me while I'm naked and wet is another matter. This one was clumsy, too. He kept slipping off his web and falling a few inches before catching himself. I wondered if he was trying to psyche me out, like a mixed-martial artist throwing feint jabs right before launching a round kick to the side of his opponent's head.

I couldn't stop looking up. My mind was calculating fall trajectories, wondering where he'd land if he fell off his silky perch. Would he hit the soap shelf and bounce onto my arm? If he fell all the way to the bottom of the shower would he scramble over to my foot? It felt ridiculous thinking these things, but I couldn't help myself. Spiders are one thing. Spiders hovering above you while you take a shower is another matter entirely.

That spider no longer exists. Well, he does, but he doesn't quite look the same. Let's just say he's an ex-spider and leave it at that.

What does all this have to do with motorcycling, you ask? Last summer my buddy Mike had a yellow jacket fly into his helmet while his face shield was cracked open. The little bugger stung him several times on the temple before he could safely pull his bike to the curb and remove his helmet. His eye swelled up, making him look like he had gone two rounds with Mike Tyson.

Thinking of what happened to Mike, after I disposed of the squatter arachnid I had the thought, "I'm sure glad spiders don't fly."

Mini Marmot, twice!

Sunday was a riding day. The weather was perfect. Warm enough and dry. I took the Marmot route and saw a string of Mini Coopers coming the other way, at least a dozen of them out on a rally of some kind. I was in the zone and my cornering was better than usual. When I got home I had two thoughts: "I should do this again!" followed by "And I should film it!"


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I dug out my Oregon Scientific action camera and strapped it to my passenger foot-rest facing backward, then headed out again. Just before heading down the hill on Ten Eyke Road I started the camera rolling. Again, I was in the zone and added 5 mph to my average cornering speeds.

Marmot Road is somewhat bumpy in spots and after a few miles I began to notice the camera was twisting in its mount. It was mounted just behind my left foot and on straight stretches I was able to reach down and rotate it back to a level shooting angle. Once Marmot Road came to a T at Barlow Trail road, I pulled over to find a way to firm up the mount so it would stay level.

And that's when I noticed the camera wasn't even on! I turned it back on and used a piece of paper towel to wedge the camera in place. After a mile or so I glanced down to the LCD display on top of the camera and noticed it was shut off again. When I got to Lolo Pass road, the turn-around point, I pulled into a driveway and checked out the camera again. It wouldn't turn on at all. Apparently the brand new batteries I put in it were old and wouldn't fire it up at all.

All was not lost. Although I was unable to film the second run, I had some great riding experience and got some fantastic practice on my cornering.

28,000 miles

I rode to work today, after being out sick. I very rarely get sick, but when I do I try to get the rest I need to heal quickly rather than work through it. That approach accomplishes two things: makes the illness last longer, and gets my co-workers sick as well.

I heal quickly and felt well enough to ride today, the only dry day of the week. My bike is still filthy from the trip I took to Long Beach two weeks ago. I gassed up the bike and noticed that I was getting really close to rolling over 28,000 miles.

I'll hit that milestone about halfway home after work today. The bike has been rock-solid and given me nothing but smiles.

A wet ride to the world's longest beach

The Pacific Northwest offers a lot of outdoor recreational activities, several of which lead to tasty meals. One such endeavor is digging for razor clams at Long Beach, Washington. The coastal peninsula in southwest Washington, immediately north of the mouth of the Columbia River -- the infamous Columbia Bar, one of the most dangerous waterways in the world -- is home to the world's longest beach. 30 miles of uninterrupted sand is also home to a very large number of razor clams.

Myself and three others booked a cabin in Long Beach for the weekend. They drove a truck with our clam digging gear while I rode my bike and met them there. The route I chose took me through the coast range of northwest Oregon. Leaving my home in Sandy I took the freeway into Portland then turned north on highway 30 to the small town of Scappoose before heading inland on back country roads toward Astoria.

It was raining off and on but I didn't care. In fact, I enjoyed it. If you're dressed appropriately riding in the rain is actually somewhat enjoyable. The road from Scappoose runs in a northwest direction and takes me past tiny communities like Birkenfeld, Mist, and Jewell. The latter is home to an elk viewing area, Jewell Meadows. It's not uncommon to see a very large herd of elk lingering in the fields, usually close to some designated pull-out viewing areas. I only saw a half-dozen elk, laying down about 200 yards away. A sign admonishes viewers to behave themselves.

Earlier, biology beckoned and I pulled over at the Scaponia county park. Presumably the name is a contraction of Scappoose and Vernonia, another small town in the area. It was deserted. There was a break in the rainfall so I had a dry chance to get off the bike and stretch a bit. Up to that point I had been riding through urban areas for well over an hour, which is tiring in its own way. The chance to take a break, and dodge the rain, was a welcome one. Within minutes of getting back on the road the rain began again in earnest. Lemon Pledge furniture polish on my helmet's face shield makes the rain bead up and run off while shaving cream wiped on the inside prevents fogging.

The road gets narrow and rough past Jewell. It passes through dwindling settlements and soon I had nothing but clear cuts and dense rain forest to keep me company. I took my time and maintained a slow pace because there was a lot of gravel and wet needles on the roadway.

My stomach was growling by the time I emerged back into civilization so I stopped at a Dairy Queen on the south side of Astoria for lunch. There was a moderate breeze and cloudy skies but the rain had stopped and I even saw some brief glimpses of sunlight outside while I ate my chicken strip basket. Knowing that gas was at least ten cents higher per gallon across the river in Washington, I filled up at the Chevron in Astoria before crossing the high and long bridge over the Columbia River.

Once in Washington I picked up a clam digging tag at Ed's Bait Shop in the port town of Ilwaco, then checked into the Akari Bungalows in Long Beach. Our lodgings were a block off the main drag, right by a main road out onto the beach. A large archway over the road proclaims Long Beach is the "World's Longest Beach". I could see the archway from the back window of our bungalow, in between two hotels. Once unpacked we geared up and headed out onto the beach to dig our limit of clams (15 per person).

Saturday was more of the same, although we had to move to two different spots on the beach to get our limit. Dinner was at the Crab Pot on the south side of town, a rich dish of dungeness crab fettucini with a cup of chowder and a Drifter Pale Ale to wash it down.

Although we had dry and very pleasant weather Friday afternoon and all day Saturday, by the time we went to bed Saturday night it was a blowing rain storm outside. My bike rode out the storm parked just outside our front door and weathered it just fine -- although it was very dirty from the road grime of the ride on Friday. Sunday morning we packed up and headed to the 42nd Street Cafe in Seaview (highly recommended) and fortunately had cloudy but rainless skies as we went our separate ways -- they drove the truck back home via the most efficient route available (highway 30 to Longview, then I-5 home) while I headed back the way I came, the back roads through Jewell and Mist.

My ride home had quite a bit more rain than when I arrived, but I enjoyed it anyway. When I got back to Portland I was feeling somewhat hungry so I pulled over at a Well's Fargo bank branch and parked under the drive-thru overhang to snack on a Snicker's and chug a frappucino (motorcyclist's snack of champions). It got me out of the rain and is a great trick to remember when traveling on weekends. Once finished, I got onto I-405 for the crossing over the Willamette River, then hit I-84 for the ride east toward home.

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Review: Sidi Canyon sport-touring boots

My Alpinestar Ridge motorcycle boots have been looking long in the tooth. They've served me well for 28,000 miles of smiles but it was time to upgrade to some new riding footwear. After doing a lot of research and reading countless reviews, I decided to get the Sidi Canyon sport-touring boots.

Sidi is an Italian company, and their products aren't necessarily easy to find in local stores. I was nervous about buying a pair of boots site-unseen, without being able to try them on first. If I limited myself to just boots carried in local bike shops my selection would be rather slim. Knowing I could return them, I placed my order with Motorcycle Superstore and paid $300 with free shipping. The boots arrived less than 24 hours later -- I lucked out as the boots shipped within an hour of placing my order and came from a warehouse within my own state (Oregon). Even if I didn't like the boots I'd be writing a kudos review to Motorcycle Superstore.

The combination of suede and smooth leather, especially across the top of the forefoot, makes these boots look somewhat striking. They'd appear to be a pure street boot if not for the ankle adjustment mechanism a la motocross style. The sole is a semi-lug type for better traction on slippery mud-covered foot pegs and while walking around off-bike. There are no zippers so two large hook-and-loop flaps are the only thing holding them on.

My first impression is they feel great. They are relatively easy to get on, compared to most motorcycle boots, and have a good fit without feeling overly soft or too stiff. That's nice because it means no long and painful break-in period.

Note: If you ever have to break in a new pair of leather boots, put them on as tight as you can get them, stand in warm water, then wear them the rest of the day until they dry out.

I wore them on the ride home from work. The foot pegs on my V-Strom have a rubber surface and I noticed the Sidi Canyon's caught on the rubber a bit more than the smoother-soled bottoms of my Alpinestar Ridge boots. They are also slightly thicker in the forefoot so I have to angle my left foot forward a bit more to get under the shift lever. Every boot will feel different in this regard once you're on the bike, so by the time I get 100 miles in I'll be used to them and won't even notice the change.

Another thing I noticed is they are quieter when walking on hardwood floors. Presumably the sole is made of a slightly softer material than my Alpinestars. The more aggressive sole and softer compound will undoubtedly give me better traction on slick or wet road surfaces when I have to put my foot down at a stop sign.

My definition of value is getting more than you pay for. Although these boots are not necessarily cheap, I've learned over time that it's never a good time to buy cheap footwear; you'll regret it every time and with every step. So far I would say these boots are at least equal to what I paid, and based on the reviews I've read and how they feel on the bike, they'll probably exceed my expectations with every mile.