The Colville: Complications

After lunch in Omak, we followed Highway 155 east, then a bit south to Nespelem, the largest community we'd encountered yet on the reservation.  Remaining on that primary thoroughfare would have taken us back down to Coulee Dam, so we turned off onto Cache Creek Road, to continue our west-to-east crossing of the Colville. 

Immediately, we began ascending into the forest again, via some well-paved, entertainingly tight switchbacks.  So enjoyable were they, in fact, that we neglected to stop for any photos!

Once over the high point, we were soon back on 21, in the same valley where we had first crossed into the reservation on the Keller ferry that morning.  This time, we headed north briefly, before taking yet another turn to the east, onto Bridge Creek Road.   We knew this would be the section with the most potential for problems.  Our maps showed it topping out at nearly 4,000 feet - and only 50 miles from the Canadian border.  This early in the season, patches of snow were still a real possibility.

There were two other ways over the mountain, one was much lower, but appeared to have a long unpaved section.  The other was even farther north, outside of the Colville, and over 1,000 feet higher!  Of course, we could always go back the way we'd come - but that would certainly feel like failure at this point.

And then, the first drops of moisture appeared on my face shield.

As these thoughts ran through my head, we suddenly found ourselves on a gentle descent.  With no sign of higher country ahead, we surmised that we must have crested the summit without realizing it.  I got off the bike to snap some photos, just as the sprinkles turned into snow!  I know you can't see it in this photo, and it's not like they were huge, fluffy flakes - but it was indeed frozen precipitation.

Dan detached his GPS from its holder and showed me the elevation reading - 4053 ft.  That was probably fairly accurate.  The temperature, shown in the middle of the compass (71), was not!  Evidently, the heat rising from the engine of his parked motorcycle was having a substantial influence on that reading.

After we left that spot, my bike was showing an ambient temp. of 42 degrees.  Probably no danger of the snow sticking to the pavement, but if you look carefully at that previous picture again, the factor we ended up dealing with for a dozen miles was left over pea-gravel.  Spread during icy conditions over the winter to increase traction, it had not yet been graded off the road surface.  In fact, the piles got deeper as we descended, so that at the worst point, there was hardly enough bare pavement in the wheel tracks for a single motorcycle tire.  We dropped our speed considerably, as we were forced to follow that narrow line, or risk having a tire sliding out from under us.

I began to fear that a truck would fly by - in either direction - and spray a barrage of buckshot-like rock in our faces.  And then, in my mirror, I saw one approaching Dan from behind.  Immediately, I began looking for a place to pull over, but there were no turnouts, and no easy way to get over the mountain of gravel and onto the shoulder anyway.

I noticed the truck coming out to pass Dan, and then a junction appeared just ahead, where the gravel was significantly less.  I pulled well over onto the side road and waited for my friend to join me - hoping he and/or his bike hadn't been hurt.

Dan's report was positive.  The driver had passed carefully, perhaps cognizant of the potential for danger.  Soon we were back along the banks of the Columbia River, and as we made the final turn towards the dock, we realized the ferry was currently loading.  We rode right on to the 'Columbian Princess', without even having to stop!

And so ended our trip across the Colville.  Down at lower elevations once more, we opened up our jackets a bit and tried to relax.  I say 'tried' because there was one other issue I haven't mentioned yet - fuel.  We'd gone about 90 miles since topping off in Omak, and Dan likes to refill around the 100 mark, if possible.  There was supposed to be a station in Inchelium, the ferry town, but we hadn't seen one, and the GPS said the closest was five miles in the wrong direction.  Since I had 150 more miles worth in my tank, I'd naturally made the decision to press on!  That's what friend are for, right?  Spurring each other on to face the odds and go for the gold!  I also knew that I'd put an extra gallon for Dan in my spare fuel can - just in case.

Once across the river and onto Highway 25, we had a choice to make.  South, towards our hotel, and what appeared to be 56 more miles without fuel, or north two miles into Gifford, where there MIGHT be fuel.  The deck hand was very friendly, but not much help on that point.

We turned north.

This is Gifford, WA.

Those are two gas pumps, with a beautiful view of the Columbia!

But despite all the vehicles, no one was around - and there was no power to the pumps.  Only when we turned around to head south again did we notice the large yellow sign - 'CLOSED INDEFINITELY.'

But, we didn't have to go as far in that direction as we'd feared.  In about fifteen miles, there was a junction gas station, and all was well again.

Until we arrived at our hotel, that is...

Remember that nice group of folks we'd met, way back on the morning ferry?  This was the first place they mentioned, when we asked about a place to stay in the small town of Davenport.

Now that I think about it, we may have just assumed that was a recommendation.  Parked out front, it occurred to me that there could be other reasons, less positive reasons, that would bring the Black Bear Motel immediately to mind! 

The Colville: A 'New' Country

The next morning could not have been more beautiful.  After a quick fast-food breakfast, we headed north out of Ephrata to Coulee City.  Had we continued that direction, we'd have soon passed through the shadow of Grand Coulee Dam.  Having both gone that way before, however, we turned east this time on Highway 2, for the more upland town of Wilbur.

After gassing up there, we turned north again, and soon were pulling over for views of the Columbia River, far below.  Yes, that's the same river we'd followed up the gorge from Portland, then left, then crossed, then followed again, and left!  The fourth largest river in the U.S. would be a recurring theme of the trip, as it makes an enormous 'S' curve through the state of Washington, before reaching its source in Canada.

What neither of us realized was how fun the route would be that took us back to the mighty river's banks for the third time so far.  Several well-paved switchbacks brought us down about 1,000 feet in elevation, in only a few miles.  With Google Earth, these days a traveler can preview his entire planned route in full color from the comfort of his home.  But I prefer to choose my roads with an old fashioned paper map - then be completely surprised when something like this happens!

I did know, however, that what awaited us at the bottom would not be a nice steel bridge.  As my regular readers know, I have an affinity for ferry crossings.  The Keller Ferry, in fact, was the reason for choosing this route in the first place.

When we arrived, there was no one else in line.  I had checked the operation schedule before leaving home, but was a little concerned that the season's frequent high winds could cause a temporary shut down.  Of course, at this point, the worst case scenario would be that we'd be 'forced' to go back up all those switchbacks - something we'd considered doing anyway - just for fun!

But soon, we saw the ferry approaching from slightly up-river.  Guess we'd have to do that road in the other direction next time.

With a capacity of 20 cars, and only a couple that had linen up behind us, we had plenty of room to get off and stretch.

Once we got out into the middle of the current, though, the safest place to be was back on the bikes.  Having your ride tip over and crash onto the deck would be very sad indeed - not to mention embarrassing!

We did get a chance to chat with that group at the railing.  They were coming from one of the towns we were thinking of staying in that night, and had a hotel recommendation for us!  The guy in the middle also warned us that the local law enforcement across the river were quite strict about posted speed limits - good to know.

The crossing, part of the Washington D.O.T. system, was free, so as soon as the net was taken down, we'd be on our way into what, in many ways, is a distinct nation.

Formed in 1872, the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation consists of 12 people groups, and now has a population of about 5,000.  Fishing, ranching, and timber production are all a big part of life here - and tourism to the many lakes and rivers is now quite substantial as well.

Entering on its southern border, we'd head northwest in a stair-step pattern, stringing together a combination of back roads and a short stint on one state highway.  With the street tires on Dan's bike, we'd try to stick to pavement, but consistent information as to the condition of the road system on the reservation had been difficult to come by.  Only one way to find out!

The road climbing out of the river gorge had been in great condition.  Then, with the help of Dan's GPS, we found the turn off for Manilla Creek Road.  It was unstriped but paved, and had a lot of potholes, which kept us on our toes!

After following Manilla up and into the forest and back down, we found ourselves along the Columbia, yet again.  Stopping for directions once, we were able to remain on track, and soon were flanking the beautiful Omak Lake, winding around the top of a cliff face, with the water's surface far below.  I wanted to stop for a photo somewhere along that stretch, but by that time, the clouds had gathered, temps had dropped to the low 50's, and I just wanted to make it back into the sunshine.

The sun had still not returned when we reached the junction with state route 155, so we turned left and headed into the town of Omak, only a couple of miles away.  After a quick GPS consultation, Dan took the lead again and brought us to the Breadline Cafe.

The place was packed - and not only with people!  There was much to look at, while we waited for our food.  Next to our table was a pile of antique radios, and across the isle was an old jukebox.

My chicken curry soup and side of homemade bread was amazing.  It did a great job of warming me from the inside out.  Dan had fully heated riding gear, so his salad provided all the calories he needed to get back on the road again.

After lunch, we spread the map out on the table and solidified the plan for the afternoon.  We'd head basically east this time, across the northern third of the reservation, climbing over some fairly high passes, only to drop back down to 'The' river yet again.  Then, we'd exit the Colville through its eastern border, on...  Yep, you guessed it, another ferry!

The Colville: Reconnect

Finally, we could stand it no longer.  After 140 miles of amazing, but familiar riding through the Columbia River Gorge, we just had to stop and admire this wild flower covered hillside on the Bickleton Road.

The rider in front is Dan, a friend of mine from back in my Utah/Arizona days - 17 years ago now!  We'd stayed in touch fairly well since then, even ridden once or twice, but it had been far too long since we'd taken a multi-day trip together.  I was looking forward to this, to reconnecting in a way that only a shared journey can provide.

The plan was fairly simple.  We met up in Camas, WA, just east of Vancouver, which is just north of Portland, OR.  Dan is now living just south of there, and I'm still on the coast, just to the west.  Like how I covered all the cardinal directions?

After a quick lunch at the Subway, we headed off towards the Colville Reservation in northeastern Washington.  We'd stay the night in a motel before we got there, take the next day to explore the nearly three million acre nation-within-a-nation, spend another night on the road, then head home.

I had been on this particular road once before - during the first or second year with my now aging KLR 650.  I'd completely forgotten about this single-lane section, but traffic was nearly non-existent, and the weather could not have been better.  Sure, we could have taken the much quicker Highway 97 from Goldendale to Toppenish, but quicker routes are for the way home!

The day's goal was to arrive at our reserved motel in Ephrata before dark - check.  We pulled into the parking space right in front of our room's door at 7:30.  I'd gone 380 miles since home, and for Dan it had been about 320, I believe.  We were off to a great start!

Next up was to give the bikes a quick once-over, and lube the drive chains while they were still warm.  That allows for easy penetration into all the nooks and crannies.  And if we found anything amiss, there was an O'Reilly right across the street!  OK you're right, there are not a whole lot of things on modern motorcycles that can be replaced from an auto parts store, but in a pinch, you might be surprised what a resourceful rider can make do!

Fortunately, the only thing that warranted additional attention was Dan's chain.  It was brand new, and as is usually the case, after a few hundred initial break-in miles, it needed a minor tightening.  Now, Dan's experience with two-wheeled transport goes back at least as far as my three and a half decades, so he had everything on board to make the adjustment.

After the tinkering was done, and we'd gotten all the gear that couldn't be locked down into the tiny room, it was time to find some supper.  Not sure where we were going to sleep, but we'd figure that out later!

We didn't have to go far for food that night.  Just on the other side of the motel was a Mexican restaurant - 'El Agave.'  The place was packed with families on a Friday night, but we didn't wait too long to get a table.  Carrying on a conversation was difficult, but it was fun to be right in the middle of what appeared to be this small town's social gathering place.

After our burritos, we took a long walk 'downtown' to help them settle.  Returning to our room at the Ephrata Inn, it was finally time to remove my latest cycle touring accessory - my bionic legs!

OK, not really, but kind of.  As I've progressed farther into middle age, the decades of abuse I've given my knees has begun to produce... consequences.  It probably began when my brother and I competed with each other to see who could drop from the highest bar on the grade school playground - then jump over the largest number of folding chairs - then off of the tallest roof we could scramble up onto.  At some point in there, we started building ramps for our BMX bikes, which naturally led to 'flying' over the creeks that ran through our neighborhood.  And then, we graduated - to motorcycles!

Since then, I've worked in the woods for most of my adult life, backpacked hundreds of miles just for 'fun', climbed the tallest peaks and descended the deepest canyons I could find - and even spent a couple of years delivering over-sized office furniture!  [Could have done without that last one.]  And, of course, I never stopped riding motorcycles.

The doc says my joints are 'loose.'  Imagine that.  The idea behind the braces is to keep everything aligned properly - to try and prevent catastrophic damage.    The fact that for their first real test, I was able to wear them for 12 hours straight without thinking about it much, and with very little pain in my knees, was very encouraging.  The fact that they're made of carbon fiber and titanium - is just WAY cool!