Rain

So far the weather gods have been kind to me. Besides the first day, I only had to ride in the rain for an hour or so… until yesterday.

The day began after a “snore fest” in a hostel dorm room in an old military barracks in Fort Warden State Park in Port Townsend. I had my ear plugs in, but according to one of my temporary roommates, six guys in one room made quite a racket. I stuck around just long enough that morning to grab my ten dollar key deposit and went down to a local coffee shop where the barista was in the process of starting his own newspaper. He was also still on a high from his first Burning Man experience. Synchronicities never cease to amaze me.

When I left Port Townsend the rain gods took a deep breath which took just long enough for me to get a few miles down the road before they exhaled rain all over Shadowfax and my parade. The day kind of looked like this: Ride to the Half Way House Diner for a cod sandwich, rain. Ride a few hours with temporary construction zone stops, rain. Ride another hour feeling my boots fill up with water, rain. Stop for an Oyster Cocktail, rain. Cross the Astoria Bridge hoping not to run out of gas, rain. Fill up gas and get some smoked salmon, welcome break from rain. That’s right for about a half hour, while I took photos of sea lions and digested my salmon, the weather gods took a moment to inhale. Not to worry, the next burst of showers attacked me with a vengeance. For once I was NOT going to ride in the dark, but the skies were so dark most of the day, I couldn’t tell when day was going to become night. The extent of the rain made me have to raise the visor on my helmet to see. The only way I could handle the pounding rain was to grimace and let my teeth take the brunt of the stinging raindrops to give my weather-beaten lips a break. This added to the olfactory experience as I passed the Tillamook cheese factory and then the miles and miles of cow dung soup fields made by the cows responsible for the famous cheese. Eventually I saw a sign that pointed to an inn two miles off the road. I wanted to push on, but Shadowfax turned of her own accord and we ended up staying in Pacific City. Three wines into my wine and cheese tasting made the day almost a memory. The only reminder came from the drops of water dripping from the only pair of shoes I brought, my boots.

Today I ride down the coast to California. I have two days to get to the Hearst Castle area where I will meet Cass. There is an endless battalion of clouds waiting for me outside. We’ll see if they will spare me or if yesterday’s fate will be repeated.

A Few More Minutes of Bobbing in the Ocean

I’m alive, well and picking the blackberry seeds out of my teeth in Doe Bay on Orcas Island, Washington. I’m hoping to make this quick so I can take on more soak in the hot baths here before getting on the ferry to Anacortes and Port Townsend.

Inspiration and timing have rarely coexisted this trip. My best thoughts and stories happen while riding along on my motorcycle. If I had more time right now, I would tell stories like Cass and Scotty almost freeze in Yosemite, Republican Cows, The Harvest Moon vs. The Halogen Monster, I-5 Cell Phone Impact, A Night of Junkie Counseling, the One Mile Diet, the Ill-advised Night Rider, How to Double Your Money on the Nevada Border and a whole lot more. Of course, I am choosing to go out and soak my travel weary bones one more time before jumping on Shadowfax and blazing off this island paradise. The Pacific Coast awaits…

More soon, or at least a bunch of photos.

The Journey Begins

The world was out to get Shadowfax today, and I just happened to be along for the ride, but I’ll get to that in a minute. This journey begins during the last two weeks as I have been in a mad rush to wrap up eight years of business while simultaneously getting Shadowfax, my motorcycle, ready for a journey. Throw in three major events I had to organize in addition to these tasks and what you get is one hugely frazzled Scotty. No matter. When my eyes popped open in the pre-dawn hours on 9/11, I popped up, threw the remaining items into my luggage and loaded up for a one month journey around the Western United States. Was I ready? Picture a ten-year-old running for the school bus with an unzipped backpack, untied shoes and a jacket and lunch box flailing like an old-fashioned movie projector at the end of a film. When the boxes were attached to the bike and the last strapped tightened, I took a moment to just sit there on Shadowfax’s back and let the Steamboat, home and work world come to a stop before letting the world of freedom unfold. With a push of the button the engine started. I was off…

Having embarked on multi-month journeys before, I was aware that I packed too much of what I didn’t need and probably forgot a few things that I did. Fortunately the road provides. My main task on day one was to begin the process of clearing my mind.

I headed west on 40 through Milner and Craig. The skies above were gray; the skies in the direction I was heading were black! I pulled over just before Maybell to put the cover on my tank bag and liberate that first cup of coffee. When I got back on Shadowfax and pushed the button. Nothing happened. Fortunately, I was on a hill and with a compression start, we were back on the road. Moments later, the sky started crying crocodile tears. Not your typical tropical crocodile, mind you, but the ultra-rare arctic version whose tears are the size of marbles with a temperature of 33 degrees. I stayed dry until the drip began filling up my right boot. Right about the time that boot filled, the other one followed suit. The mirrored reflection of the sky off of the standing water on the road took my mind off of this and I reflected on other things.

By the time I hit Vernal, I had outrun the storm. I could have kept going, but I wanted to fill the battery with battery acid to see if that would help the problem. Just as I finished filling the last cell, the arctic crocodile storm caught me. I was already wet, though; It didn’t matter. Continuing west through Vernal, Shadowfax started handling strangely. At first I thought it was the foam on the road, but then realized that the back tire was flat. I stopped at a garage, and a tire store, neither who could help me. One guy told me of a motorcycle dealership down the street. Fortunately, they took the time to change the tire for me.

I have a spare tube and tire irons, but I have heard horror stories of grown men crying like babies after wrestling with a flat for an hour or two. I figured I would eat the cost and let the pros do it since I was in a town. I hung out in the garage with three Mexican mechanics as they tried to decide who would do the job. Of course they picked the guy least suited for it. He got lots of practice, though, having to do it twice. He overfilled and popped the tube on his first try. Have you ever wondered why people who speak different languages still choose to swear in English? Two hours later, we were back on the road. Crocodile rains got board and headed the other way.

That night I chased the sunset all the way to 15 and slept in a motel in Nephi, Utah, 351 miles from home.