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Plan No Plan: Riding the Five Corners part 3
 A Guide to Biker Valhalla
By
Joshua J. Dugan
…continued from Part 2
Our third day on the road started off late again. Who
cares, we’re on plan no plan. We ride when we want to and stop when we want to.
This run is purely about the journey, not the destination, not even a little
bit. The first few miles were just a little rough. Hell, I even missed a shift,
haven’t done that in a while. We decided to cruise down to a bike shop in
Pendleton, Oregon, we’d heard about while going through Walla Walla. More
beautiful rolling hills of wheat, sun at our backs, and the smells of the
harvest all the way to Walla Walla. Since we had to take a little detour and
ended up on 125 into town from the North we just happened to rumble past the
Walla Walla State Penitentiary. Since we were going by anyway we thought it
would be a good idea to get a picture or two at the gate so we pulled over and
parked. I had just gotten my camera out of my bag when a guard started yelling
at us. I couldn’t understand what he was saying and neither of us were convicted
felons, so I strolled up the road to see what all the fuss was about. Well, come
to find out they don’t like people stopping near the property and especially
don’t like people taking pictures of the prison without approval. Something
about pre-staging a jail break came up in our conversation. He was nice enough
not to throw us in jail after me proving I hadn’t taken any pictures. OK…so
maybe I got one or two but don’t tell anyone
After that interesting interlude, we continued down 125
which eventually turns into 11 at the Oregon border. Wide open spaces again and
off to Biker Valhalla I go. We bombed through the wavy fields and were treated
to an incredible aerobatic display by a crop duster pilot with nerves of steel.
Wow, this dude was doing some fancy flying. Barrel rolls, wing-overs, dives into
what looked like about 10 feet off the ground. All that with wave after wave of
heated air and varying air density to deal with. Truly amazing, thanks
man…whoever you are. We hit Pendleton about noon, a perfect time to swing by
Phantom Cycle for a little break. We ended up hanging out there talking for a
while with the owner about rides, our plan no plan, and Sturgis. He had his
brother’s ’91 FXR in the shop that he had done a total custom rebuild on. It was
slammed, black and trick. Too bad the Revtech 100 motor he put in ate itself
200 miles later. It’ll be a warranty repair job but still a major pain for his
brother. It happens sometimes. All of his t-shirts have skulls all over them and
I like skulls so I just had to add one to my collection. We laughed about the
skulls and the shop owner pointed out a simple fact, "Skulls are cool, people
like them because everyone’s got one." I hadn’t thought of it that way before
but it’s very true indeed. With a chuckle we picked up a couple of t-shirts and
headed down the road again. Since it was getting hot as hot gets we decided to
break our no interstate rule for a little while and bomb down I-84 to I-82 then
cross over back into Washington. That highway was like a frying pan with lots of
tractor trailers thrown in for fun. Flat, hot, and boring wasn’t what we had
envisioned for this trip so we blasted our way along those 50-something miles in
record time and turned west on US14 which just so happens to be the next leg of
the Lewis and Clark Trail. Now this road is cool. Perfect condition; wide,
smooth and fast. It wanders along the northern shore of the Columbia
River all the way to Vancouver. There are lots of twists and turns and ups and
down and some of the most beautiful scenery of our trip. It gets a little windy
in spots as you continue west. It’s so windy on a consistent basis, in fact,
that sailboarders have made a bunch of parking spots along the road. If
traveling on US14 remember this: watch out for oblivious people crossing the
road with their sailboards. We hammered along US14 at about 70 mph pretty much
unimpeded except for the occasional tractor trailer full of Walla Walla Sweet
Onions that had a tendency to puke an onion or two off the back as we
approached. Watch out for flying onions. I don’t imagine it would be a good
thing to catch one in the head at 50+ mph. This road was a good choice because of
the wind carrying the little bit of coolness there was from the Columbia River
up our way. Don’t get the wrong impression, I’m not a total wimp about the heat
thing. I just prefer a little cool air once in a while and don’t want to live in
an oven. If people want to live in an oven that’s good with me, freedom has lots
of versions and visions.
I’m not new to riding motorcycles and I’m mature enough of
a rider to know that stuff does happen that you don’t want to happen. People do
get scared and people do get hurt on bikes, well okay, technically it’s usually
the impact after they leave their bike that hurts. Anyway, I haven’t been scared
on a bike for a long time. I’ve been cut off and angry at people and their
inability to use their head for its designed purpose more than once. That
happens almost every day in western Washington. I’m man enough to admit it…I got
scared this day. There’s a tunnel along 14 that scared me shaky. Shelby blasted
though this tunnel in a curve and just as he cleared the other side I entered as
a tractor trailer was coming through towards me across the yellow line and as a
gust of the often powerful wind whipped me to the left pretty damn hard. Listen
up. Never let your guard down even if you’re in Biker Valhalla. If I weren’t
totally and completely dialed in at that moment I would have either been plowed
by the semi or eaten a rock wall at 50 plus. There’s pretty much only one way to
get to be an old biker and that is to be a smart biker. Listen to and learn from
yourself. Listen to and learn from other bikers. Most cagers have the luxury of
getting in a wreck walking away and kicking themselves for "should have done this"
or "could have done that." More often than not, we don’t have that luxury. If we
go down it’s not a question if we’ll be hurt, but how badly we’ll be hurt.
Admit it to yourself and deal with it.
After I cleaned myself up and the shakes went away (just
kidding about the cleaning part), we continued along the Columbia enjoying all
the sights, smells and turns along the way. The further west we rode, the denser
the forest became. At the beginning of 14 a few hours earlier you couldn’t find
a tree anywhere on the horizon. I doubt you could have bought a tree and raised
it to maturity. Now as we approached Vancouver we began to re-enter the familiar
topography of Western Washington. The mountains weren’t just visible but in your
face as we stopped for gas in Stevenson. After the down slope and into Vancouver
we thumped along getting closer and closer to the hustle and bustle of
semi-urban life. We were no longer the fastest guys on the road. Little Fast and
Furious punk kids in their low riding music blasting mini-cars thinking they’re
slick as slick can be blasting by us on the right at 90 in a 60. Punks, I wish I
could have introduced myself to them.
We broke our only rule again in Vancouver by jumping on
I205 then I5 up to Kelso. I wanted to take a pit stop here to find a paint shop.
I met Don King of King Grafix while at the Sun and Surf this year. Pretty
impressive work and reasonably priced so I figured he’d be the guy to flame my
scoot. I’ve got this thing for flames and skulls I just can’t explain. I didn’t
have enough time that day at Sun and Surf to get my scoot pinstriped so I took a
card and said I’d catch up to him later. I never did find his shop. The street
addresses on the Westside Highway in Kelso don’t seem to follow much of a
traditional sequence like I’m used to. Most street addresses have a numbering
sequence that either ascends or descends depending on which way you’re
traveling. Not so here. The city planners pulled a cruel joke on me that day.
It’s not funny but still not a big deal, we’re on plan no plan. I’ll just catch
him another day.
Out of Kelso on 4 was our next route, again along the
Columbia headed to the coast on the Lewis and Clark Trail. A brief stop in
"where the hell are we" Cathlamet for gas. Things were considerably cooler here
then we had experienced just a few short hours earlier. A recent cold front had
pushed through a line of thunderstorms and dropped the temperature down to about
60 degrees. We used this stop to put on our leathers. They hadn’t seen much use
in the last day and a half. Fortunately we had missed the rain by a couple of
hours. A guy at the gas station said the rain was just coming down in sheets. He
hadn’t seen a thunderstorm like that in years. Glad we missed it. Just like
everything else on this run so far, things just worked out for us. It was
getting on toward dusk and the cedar-laced air was still getting cooler so we
decided we’d push on a little further up to South Bend along US101 before
stopping for the night.
US101 is a famous road for a reason. This leg of it is in
perfect condition, like all the others we traveled. Wide shoulders, smooth
surface, gentle and not so gentle turns through the fir and cedar forest
scooting along the coast. Just about the time we merged onto 101 we could smell
the sea air being pushed east by a mild breeze. Now, being career Navy guys with
pretty near twenty years of service for each of us, we’re no stranger to the
sounds and smells of the sea. Funny thing is that I rarely smell it or even give
it a second thought while out in the middle of the ocean. I guess a little
complacency with the sea had set in over the years. Now, it was obvious and
intoxicatingly familiar. I guess I’m a true sailor; I miss the sea when I’m
ashore and miss the land while at sea.
We thumped along the coast of Willapa Bay along the 101
just hammering along until we reached South Bend. I hadn’t ever been here before
but it didn’t take long to get a feel for this small fishing community. They
seem to get a fair share of tourist activity coming along the 101 but it isn’t a
tourist town like Winthrop or Leavenworth. They seem to do just fine on their
own. The town had a nice feel of settled routine. We rumbled through town trying
to get the lay of the land and scope a spot to put up for the night. We settled
on the Seaquest Inn, which is about half a block off the main drag up a little
hill in the middle of town. After stopping in front of the office we unsaddled,
stretched, and tried to ease the soreness and chill that had taken over our
bodies. We had managed to cover a pretty fair distance that day considering we
did almost all back roads and took semi-frequent stops to check stuff out. It’s
nice not to be in a hurry and worry about a schedule or destination. We were
relaxed and calm as we picked our room. Ya see, that’s how Doug does it at the
Seaquest Inn. All the rooms are different, almost all are two bedroom suites
with a kitchen. He gave us a little history lesson about the town and the
property. He said we could have our pick of the two remaining rooms. We picked
one inside the courtyard so we could park our scoots off the street and not
worry about anyone clipping them as they drove by. The rooms we saw were very
nice with new beds, fresh paint and recliners. I was pretty impressed both with
the Seaquest and with Doug the owner. Good people, good room, and again a very
reasonable price for what we got. Just so you know, he’s got a little deal going
with a local restaurant owner friend of his. You have to ask Doug about it but
you can get an all-you-can eat oyster dinner with soup, salad and the works for
$14.95 a head. If you feel a hankering for oysters either fried, half shelled,
grilled or whatever puts lead in your pencil this is the way to go. Doug is a
real personable guy. We talked for a while about all sorts of stuff and got the
low down on the town of South Bend, nice place.
…to be continued
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