7. day 1 riding

No amount of preparation, planning, preemption, postulation or prevention can really properly guide to the day that you actually pull the choke lever for the last time, turn the key and feel the engine start for the first day of a motorcycle journey.

After moving the last of my unwanted belongings or “free stuff” to the side walk, quickly making a “free” sign, sweeping my room for the last time, and placing my keys next to each other on the kitchen table I drove away from Carleton street and the fair city of Georgetown for Missoula, Montana to meet my dad at an undisclosed location or time. Actually we really didn’t know where we would meet. It’s impossible to disclose the undisclosable.

It felt earie and exciting to ride west on I-90 up the western slope of the Cascade mountains of Washington state. . It felt great to once again be doing something that I had never ever done before, and for a time I felt as if I had never driven this road, I saw it in a new light, with a new set of eyes. If there were a drug that gave you the sense that adventure was ON, I would bottle it and keep it all for myself, probably taking it constantly. The air cooled the moment I left Seattle and headed to the green lined highways passing over Snoqualmie pass. I thought I would never do this but I decided to take the I-pod along, I thought it would be a great idea to start the day with some Randy Rhodes tribute by Ozzy. It’s a great combo with the motorcycle and 3 cups of coffee together. I pulled in to Ellensburg and Roslyn to see if Darcy had got my messages, or if she was home. I pulled up and was greeted like we had been planning my arrival for weeks. Though I never really warned her before arriving she made me coffee, yogurt with muesli and loaded me up on Ibuprofen! I cannot think of a better place to stop or a more appropriate fist encounter on this trip. Thanks Darcy…and congratulations!

As I descended the east slop of the Cascades the day began to heat up, I passed through Yakima, the Grand Coulee dam and the Columbia River toward Spokane. Rest stops are great places to check out the action of true America. All the bad habits, paranoia, rudeness and obliviousness can all be observed in a spot no larger than a football field. If you want to experience the better sides of what we are capable of, avoid these places, unless of course there is free coffee and cookies. I tend to like to sit around and watch for a while. You pull up and all the other motorcycle riders have to check you out, like dogs at the dog park. I was hoping sit down on the lawn but I realized I was watching a woman get out of her air-conditioned car (leaving it running) to walk the dog over to the only shady spot so it could shit, and she could be in the shade simultaneously. I sat on the grass in the sun and devoured the last of my MRE (lifted from fort Lewis) tuna salad with crackers, which really wasn’t that bad I have to say.

By the time you leave Spokane and head into Idaho you start remembering why you bought the motorcycle in the first place. The road starts climbing, and descending, and climbing more all the while twisting its way through canyons. The trees begin to return as if they were somehow banished from Washington but allowed to return somewhere near the Idaho boarder. Its like leaving rolling grasslands of corn and wheat, ascending up past Laura ingalls wilder and the set of little house on the prairie and up to the set of Big Valley waving to Hoss, where the ponderosa pines poke out of pine needle carpeted mountains. The air enters your body in a way that no longer feels as if the life were being sucked out of you, crisp and gentle. I have discovered that the best roads tend to be those that follow rivers, the second best being those that follow lakes. For two reasons; one is that the roads are always full of curves and undulations, the second is that the air always seems a bit sweeter, cooler, and welcoming, especially as the sun sets and you can feel these changes sweep past you. .

By the end of the day my dad was stuck in a windstorm somewhere south of Missoula and said he probably would not make it to Missoula to meet me. Determined as I usually am, I swore I would be there if it took me all night. I was going to force myself to make my first day a 500 mile day since he had been doing 700 mile days for three days in order to meet me from Texas. We left messages every 100 miles or so on eachothers voicemail in order to guage our hopeful simultaneous arrivals in Missoula. As I closed in on Missoula within about a 100 miles or so I called my dad and it turns out that he hauled ass and outran the windstorm only to arrive sooner than I. We met just of exit 105 in Missoula if you were taking I90 east. I passed a harley dealership on exit 99 or close to that, so I made a mental note we should return the next day in order to add a dealer pin to my dads ever growing dealer pin collection. When we met at the convenience store called Nunes it meant that the trip was pretty much ON from that point onward regardless of what was happening on or off the bikes. I know he was looking at my puny little dualsport bike thinking “jesus, this is going to be a slow long trip”…ha, I put in the 16 tooth front sprocket so I could easily maintain 70 mph or so. 16 tooth would soon become my mantra while passing semi’s uphill or sightseeing tourists.

The first night we stayed in my dads favorite…Holiday inn Express. I’ve come to understand, as you will later the importance of having a favorite. It means that when you open the door to a room, there will be no unexpected treats, visitors, mushy mattresses, unfunctional remotes or used towels on the ground. It’s familiar, it’s like home, and while I do value adventure, a firm mattress and clean towels sure are nice when you are paying the price.